Twin Souls
by Adamantwrites
Summary: In postbellum Nevada, Adam marries and life goes on as usual-until it doesn't. My 2015 NaNoWri story so it's slightly over 50,000 words. Hope you enjoy all of them!
1. Chapter 1

**All recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plots are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.**

 **Twin Souls**

Ben Cartwright waited in the depot in Carson City for his daughter-in-law's train to pull in from Baltimore. Joe also waited impatiently, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He looked at the huge clock on the stations master's building.

"The train's already ten minutes late."

"Have a little patience, Joe. Wait. Here it comes now." Ben craned his neck and looked out in the distance and saw the plume of black smoke and then the sound of the wheels slowing as it came closer. He anticipated the whistle as it pulled into the station and the screech of the brakes.

His pursed his lips; he hoped Marjorie wouldn't be upset that Adam wasn't there to meet her but she had returned earlier than anyone had anticipated. But you never knew with Marjorie, what would upset and what wouldn't as she had a sense of right and wrong behavior and how a husband and wife should treat one another that was so deeply-ingrained that one never knew at what she would take umbrage. Not even Adam. But she seemed a good wife on the whole and with her black hair, pale skin and bright blue eyes, beautiful. And Adam was happy with her—at least he seemed happy even though Marjorie wasn't a homebody, interested in keeping house or raising children.

When of age, Marjorie had gone to a "modern-thinking" girl's school outside Berlin and had adopted the ideas of the Socialists who met in "ratskellers" and planned to bring changes to the world, to help the poor who, forced into menial jobs could barely survive. And their children were impressed to work as well—the most heinous social injustice of all. Marjorie and her comrades believed women and men were equal and deserved to be educated and independent. Due to this, women everywhere deserved the vote in their philosophy. After all, women were just as intelligent as men and in many ways, more so. Societal reform, Marjorie was fond of saying, was necessary for a futuristic society where all humans had the chance for a good life. And Adam would listen to his wife and smile.

Many a night Adam had sat back in his chair, a look of amusement on his face while Marjorie related her thoughts and feelings about life, about assisting the poor and the Indians. "Since they don't have the education to know what they are capable of doing, well, I think that those of us who are, should help them, guide them. And I also think that demon alcohol should be outlawed."

"Marjorie, an adult should be able to decide for himself—or herself—if they want to drink."

"Oh, and then go home and beat their wives and children. You approve of that?"

"Of course not but society can't dictate what people can and cannot do. We can make laws but people can decide whether or not they want to follow them."

"Adam, why can't you see that socialism is the answer? I know you and your family are wealthy…"

"And you," Adam added.

"Yes, well…that's just circumstance. But many people don't have the wherewithal to decide what's best for them."

"So tell me, my dear, am I correct in surmising that what you're espousing is anti-individualism or collectivism?"

"Well…we don't live in isolation…so…oh, Adam, you enjoy confusing me, don't you?"

Adam chuckled to see Marjorie so flummoxed. "Ah, no man is an island, correct, my sweet?"

"What?"

"John Donne. 'No man is an island unto himself'."

"Exactly. And wouldn't it be wonderful if everyone had the same chances in life? If everyone could profit from everyone else's talents?"

"But what if someone has no talent? What then?"

"You're just trying to confound me again. I hate it when you do that, Adam. I know you think I'm silly—foolish—but I think that if we were a socialist country, well, things would be better for all of us. Don't you agree?"

"I don't know," Adam said. "But if that were the way things were, what about us? What about the way we live as compared to some dirt-poor homesteader? What should we do about them? The Constitution states that 'All men are created equal' but we know they're not. Look at you, Marjorie. You're beautiful—the prettiest thing I've ever seen and you're intelligent and loved…I love you. How can your actions make anyone love Fran Jessup? She has a harelip, reeks of unwashed parts and is none too bright; she can wash dishes in the New House restaurant, follow simple instructions and that's about it. Is she equal to you? Is there any way you can create equity? Surely you wouldn't suggest that I should have married her and taken her to my bed."

Marjorie said nothing. She had stopped pacing in front of her husband. She had no answer. Adam rose from his chair, gave her a light kiss on her cheek, and walked into his den off the main room. She stood and waited. He had said nothing and she wondered if he was going to close the door against her and sip whiskey and maybe smoke a cigar, both things of which she disapproved. But instead he returned with an unusually slim book in his hand. He handed it to her and Marjorie took the book and turned it spine-up to read the title.

"What is this?"

"It's a book by Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels—a rare reprint of their pamphlet really-called _The Communist Manifesto_ originally published 16 year ago. I'm surprised you haven't read. Read it –see how you feel about what they say. It'll only take about a half hour including the added commentary—that is if you ponder it. " Adam retook his seat and picked up the book he had placed on the floor beside him when Marjorie had begun her initial complaint about lack of employment for the Paiutes.

Marjorie paused and stood looking at the book in her hands. The she silently took the stairs. She wanted to read it alone and not under the watching eyes of her husband. Sometimes Marjorie wondered about Adam, what he really thought. He talked and shared ideas when in a group but when they were alone, he reverted to solitary activities. She had considered that the only time Adam included her was when he slid his hand under her nightgown and caressed her thigh. But since she found pleasure with him, Marjorie concluded that things could be worse—much worse.

But Marjorie wasn't just talk. She was involved in fund-raisers and benefits and many of the women in Virginia City, women and girls of all ages, looked to her to lead them "out of the shackles clapped on by society," as she was fond of stating. That resulted in resentment by many of the husbands and fathers in Virginia City and its environs, but what caused the greatest uproar was that Marjorie Cartwright began a temperance league.

"Adam, I don't want any alcohol in the house. It's poison—it ruins people's lives. I poured out the two bottles of whiskey you had in your office. I won't be a hypocrite, lead meetings and protest the saloons serving the devil's poison to patrons and then allow it in my own house." Marjorie raised her chin, waiting for Adam's response.

Earlier, when she had made up her mind to rid the house of whiskey, she broke out in a sweat. Adam enjoyed sipping a glass of whiskey while he read in the evening or when he had company over, whether it be his father or brothers or just someone who came to see him on business. But Marjorie would seethe with anger whenever it happened in her home.

But when she had told Adam about ridding the house of spirits, he had said nothing—just looked at her and then went back to his evening paper. Marjorie was on edge; she had expected an explosion and there was nothing. But the next day Adam went into town and bought a bottle of Irish whiskey and a bottle of aged brandy and brought them home where he showed them to Marjorie who was at her needlepoint, the hoop on its stand in front of her. "And if you pour any of this out, I swear, Marjorie, I will pull you over me knee and give you a few swats. I won't drink in front of you if you prefer and I could understand your objection if I became drunk and beat you or forced you to submit to drunken lust, but that doesn't happen. I enjoy a drink on occasion and if someone comes over, I want to be able to offer them a drink as well. And that's all I'll say about it."

And that was all he said about it and Marjorie didn't dare pour out any more spirits. But that didn't mean that she couldn't try to prevent its sale and the first place to do so was the saloons, the whorehouses and the stores that imported it.

The group of women in Virginia City, most of them middle-aged wives of store-owners and mothers of children, marched with signs, stood outside brothels attempting to shame the patrons and preventing them from entering. The whores only laughed at the protestors and one afternoon, they dumped chamber pots on the women's heads, laughing at the screams from below. On the whole, during the daylight hours, it worked keeping the men away but protestors couldn't be there all day, every day, so business continued as usual after dark, the 'soiled doves" hanging half-dressed over the balcony, calling out to the men

Then one afternoon, Marjorie leading the band of armed women, they destroyed The Bucket of Blood, attacking it with hatchets and breaking the windows with thrown bottles of whiskey, the men not knowing what to do but leave. The two dozen women, including Marjorie Cartwright, spent the night in jail, crowded six to a cell. But Adam stood by his wife's side in front of the judge and paid the fine plus her share of damages.

Although Marjorie wasn't intimidated by the incident, others who had to spend up to a week in jail because their husbands or parents didn't have the money, were not so eager to place themselves in that position again. And that only frustrated Marjorie and she poured her frustration out to Adam.

He was finally fed-up with her. "Marjorie, I don't know that I would bail you out again if you and your 'posse' decide to wreck another saloon. I might just let you sit in a jail cell for a few nights because you happen to believe that you can behave with impunity just because we're a prominent family. The piper always has to be paid—and you expect me to pay him."

Although he never complained to his father, Ben wondered why Adam indulged his wife so much but then Adam had once said that since the war, he found that most things, when put in perspective, really weren't worth the energy used to become upset. So it wasn't that Adam was uxorious, he just didn't care enough to become upset. And Ben suspected that the reason Marjorie suited his eldest son so well was because she was independent; she didn't rely on him for company and he enjoyed not only that freedom but also enjoyed having a wife in his bed. He also had someone with whom to carry on conversation when he was inclined to talk and to leave him alone when he desired silence.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'd think you'd be more in a hurry to get home. I mean Margie's been gone close to a month," Hoss said as he forked up fried potatoes from his plate. The thin slices were crisp on the outside, a nice toasted brown that dripped butter and yet were creamy and sweet on the inside. People didn't understand that potatoes could be sweet but Hoss, even though it appeared that he barely tasted the food he swallowed, could actually differentiate between the subtle flavors and nuances of food. He could also taste the sweetness of fried onions and cooked cabbage and the underlying fruitiness of good coffee beans. All except alcohol; that subtlety escaped him and backwoods moonshine tasted just as good to him as the finest Kentucky bourbon. "Besides," he once told Adam who belittled his indifference to select whiskeys and bourbon, "the purpose of drinkin' is to get drunk and it don't matter much how you get there."

"Well, the purpose of eating is to fill your belly, isn't it? So why so picky over what you eat?"

"I ain't picky—I can just tell good food from bad food and I know what I like. I'm a…what's that word? Oh, yeah…gourmand."

"The word is jackass," Adam said shaking his head. But he smiled; Hoss was far more complex than anyone else suspected.

It was Hoss' derision for trail food that made Adam wonder why he was being criticized for stopping in a little town for supper instead of continuing straight home. "So you're telling me you'd rather have fried beans and burnt coffee than steak and potatoes? You won't find apple cobbler on the trail either. You think your horse is going to shit peach pie?"

"No, no I don't—although your cookin' tastes like you stood behind the horses with a waitin' fry pan. I just don't understand why you ain't more eager to see that pretty little wife of yours." Hoss broke apart a crusty roll and slathered sweet butter on it. "You gonna eat the rest of them taters?"

"Help yourself," Adam said pushing his plate across the table. "Maybe with your mouth full you'll stop talking about things that aren't your business." Hoss' brows shot up but then he shrugged and went back to eating. There was no figuring Adam.

Adam sat back and sighed. He was through eating and now he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Hoss made him examine his motivations for stopping. He knew he should be eager to see his wife of less than two years but he wasn't; he was just tired. Oh, Marjorie was often delightful, brightening up his evenings, making him smile with her observations of people-she could do incisive imitations of others, poking light fun at them. And when Adam was in the mood to talk, they would discuss politics; she was knowledgeable on many topics and tried to keep up with the new laws. Adam wasn't averse to seeing her but he hadn't really missed her and the emotional turmoil that he had recently been through on her behalf. But then perhaps, he justified to himself, he hadn't missed her because he had been busy in Pasadena and hadn't found the time. That was probably it. Business always distracted him, something about which she had often complained, and this had been a most auspicious trip; the lumber contract with the railroad had been extended for five years and Adam had enjoyed the bargaining—it was like playing poker, trying to discern if the other "player' was bluffing, something at which he himself excelled.

And he had also met with the Burnside Construction Company. They contracted for good Ponderosa pine for their new buildings. Adam had looked at their plans and the old longing to design grand edifices gripped him again. But these plans were for simple homes, functional but simple and lacking in beauty or grace—two unassuming models to be repeated endlessly and sold cheaply to families who hoped to find a wonderful life out west now that a spirit of expansion had filled the populace after the divisive war. Adam was reluctant; he didn't want to be an accomplice to this blight on the open countryside but that worked in his favor. The contractors sensed his reluctance and assumed it was their offered price so they raised it. Adam was still going to decline but Hoss pulled him aside and convinced him that if they didn't benefit, the Burnside Construction Company would go elsewhere and probably purchase inferior wood so if Adam's conscience was bothering him now, what would he feel when the roofs and ceilings crashed down on the residents' heads?

So Adam sealed the deal and then the telegram came informing Adam that Marjorie was coming home early. Adam didn't smile as he read it; it must mean that things hadn't gone well. He knew Margie would be upset, distressed by the visit, would lean against his chest and weep and the onus to comfort her would be his. With her mother's recent death, if Margie was still estranged from her sister, she had no family left in the world except him and he felt the burden heavily. Who else could she turn to but him? No one else and the thought made him even wearier as his wife's emotional needs drained him—but she had no one else.

 **~ 0 ~**

"I know I haven't talked much about my sister," Marjorie said as she lay in Adam's arms. "But...well, she ran away from the boarding school and we never heard from her except for one letter a few years ago. And when I came home from school, Daddy forbid mother and me to talk about her—you know how didactic he could be. We weren't even allowed to speak her name. I wish I could tell her about our parents though. It didn't seem so…necessary with Daddy's passing but now with both of them gone…and then there's the money. I want to share it with Madeline. I'm sure she needs it."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Well, because she has an incomplete education, no trade—she must be struggling. And I never found out, never knew why Madeline left—just ran away from school. But I believe my parents knew; they just never told me. It must have been something shameful."

Adam waited for his wife to talk more if she was so inclined. She had been crying all day, first at the funeral, then at the burial site and then afterwards at the reception at the Ponderosa. Her lovely blue eyes were swollen along with her face and Adam hoped her tears were over. But her grief was sincere; she had stayed by her mother's beside the past week when her condition had become critical, Adam sitting with her whenever he could and bringing her meals which she barely tasted. He had been with Marjorie when the end came for her mother and she had cried in his arms for hours afterwards—just like tonight.

"Would you like to know why?" Margie was surprised Adam wasn't curious.

"It's not important. But I tell you what—tomorrow I'll go into Carson City and find a lawyer to track down your sister—Madeline, right?"

"Yes."

"You think she's still going by Purl?"

"I don't know. I don't know why she wouldn't be."

"Well, I'll give him the information and whatever he finds, if it's inflammatory or undesirable, no one here will know. How old is she?"

"As old as I am—we're twins."

Adam partially sat up to look down at his wife. "Does she look like you?"

"Yes. We're identical."

Adam chuckled. "Identical, huh? Then my guess is that she's married to some foreign count and probably living grander than you with diamond and emerald bracelets stacked up her arms and strings of pearls about her neck."

"Why do you say that?" Marjorie was puzzled by his response.

"Because that's what you deserve—to be coddled and spoiled and to own all the riches that befit you."

"Oh, Adam. I don't need all that to be happy—just you."

"I'm glad." He lay back down and pulled Marjorie back into his arms but the idea of two raven-haired, blue-eyed women stirred him and had it not been such a stressful day for Marjorie, he would have had his way with her. But instead, he closed his eyes and hoped sleep would soon come but envisioning two desirable women, one on either side of him, kept him awake far longer than he had expected.

~ 0 ~

The noise of the train depot made Marjorie nervous and Adam had misgivings about the trip.

"Margie, wait another month and a half-then I can go with you." After hearing the lawyer's report, Adam was in doubt as to what he should reveal to Marjorie about her sister but he told Marjorie that her sister was in Baltimore, that she lived in the Barnum's City Hotel, one of the most expensive and luxurious hotels in the large city. Adam had studied it in college, as least through renderings and floorplans, and it was noted for its fine Italianate architecture. He had reserved a room for her as she requested, but with trepidation. "With the two of you being identical, it might initially cause confusion. Let me find you a room in another hotel." But Margie had insisted so Adam capitulated.

"Now, Adam, I'm a big girl. I know you can't get away just now; we talked about it and I've decided to go alone. Besides, it'll work out better, I'm sure, if it's just the two of us. After all, Madeline and I have to get to know each other again. Besides, I came back from Europe all by myself—surely you can trust me to travel alone a few hundred miles to visit my sister."

"You listen to me—and don't close me out—I know when you give me that look…now listen. I still think we should send a wire telling her to expect you."

"No. I think that…what if she doesn't want to see me? Then she'd leave before I even arrived. This way, well, she has to at least see me to deny me!"

"All right but if she doesn't want to see you or she isn't there, turn around and come home. Don't do any further investigating. If you need more money—need anything, wire me, well, wire Pa. I leave for Pasadena in a few days. Now give me a kiss." Adam pulled his wife to him and gave her a quick kiss on her smooth cheek. He noted her smell of lemon verbena, the scent she used. He took a deep breath to keep it in his head for a bit longer. Since they were in public, it would be unseemly to kiss her mouth.

"Now you have your ticket, right?"

"Yes. I have my ticket right here. See?" She held it up.

The station master gave the "All Aboard" call and Marjorie looked at the train again and then back to Adam. Her heart was pounding with excitement—and a little trepidation that Adam noted. She now needed confidence and as usual, he was the one to provide it.

"Margie, she's your sister. Your twin. She'll be happy to see you. From what you've said, she left your parents and their upbringing—not you."

"I just…it's been so long—8, almost 9 years since I've seen her. Maybe we should have hired a Pinkerton man to find out more about her. The only thing that worries me is, what if she turns me away? She may never see me!"

"We've gone over this. If she turns you away, then she turns you away and you come home. Immediately. You made the effort and would have no reason to feel guilty. But I don't think she will. And if you want, and she agrees, you bring her home with you. I think, with enough sleep and coffee, I can handle the two of you." Adam smiled and was pleased when Marjorie rolled her eyes in disgust. But she smiled as well and gave Adam a playful slap on the arm. He had reduced her anxiety with one small joke. "Now get on the train or you'll miss it and have to stay home with Pa and Joe while I'm gone."

The porter had already taken her valise onboard and Adam handed Margie up the steps to her semi-private compartment. Despite his desire to secure a private compartment for Marjorie, she insisted that she didn't want to ride all the way to Baltimore alone so Adam capitulated.

"I suppose," he had said when they had discussed it, "that you just don't want to miss the chance to proselytize and convert other people to your vision of the perfect world. And having a captive audience…."

Margie was ready to take offense, to chastise Adam for belittling her beliefs and efforts but he was smiling and so she let her anger subside; he could be frustrating but he did love her—that she knew so she would allow the snide remark about how she "preached" the objectives of socialism and how those who had much should help out those who didn't. And although Adam supported her by giving his time and money to support the educational fund for building a school for the Paiutes and a clinic with a visiting doctor, often she was an embarrassment to the Cartwrights as Marjorie never missed a chance to point out the inequities of life. Adam had once made a comment that no one could clear a room faster than Marjorie. After that remark, she hadn't spoken to him for two days, carefully nursing her injured feelings but he had never apologized and had made no effort to reconcile—actually behaved as if all was normal so Marjorie just gave up her anger and continued as if he had said nothing. But she tucked it away in case she needed to pull out his comment later in a future argument.

The compartment door was now closed and Marjorie looked out the window. Adam moved alongside the train as it pulled away so that she could see him and he smiled and waved. He walked alongside the train for a few more steps but the train quickly picked up steam and moved faster. He stopped and felt a sudden loss. His wife frustrated him; she was eager to argue but almost always as eager to please. Adam sighed. He had to get back home and prepare for the trip to Pasadena, he and Hoss. And soon she would return and she may return with her sister. Again, Adam felt the warmth surge through his blood at the thought of two women, both equal in beauty. Or would they be? Would time and their separate experiences distinguish them by a subtle difference? And then a thought struck him and he stood still. Would he be attracted to Madeline, Marjorie' sister? Would he find himself desiring her?

"Stop it, boy," Adam told himself." You're just making trouble where there isn't any-yet. You're not Joe."

Joe's debacle with a set of sisters three years ago was still referred to in their family. It seems that Joe fell head over heels for a young woman in church—Anissa Johansson whose father had arrived a month earlier to open his bakery shop in Virginia City. Anissa had almost white-blond hair and always held a flowered parasol over herself due to her fair skin. On the way home from church the day he had met her, Joe had declared to his father and brothers that he had found the girl he was going to marry.

Hoss and Adam had looked at each other knowingly—Joe and his loves, many and varied. But their father had listened seriously. So far, his three sons were still bachelors and often he bemoaned the fact that he was closing in on 70 and as of yet had no grandchildren.

"You best be careful what you ask for," Hoss had once said, "or you may get it but not how you want. You might have some cock-eyed bastard come to the door one day and call you Gramps and want a share of your money."

"Now why are you two looking at me?" Joe had asked his brothers, feeling slighted. "You two could just as easily have a cock-eyed child."

"No we couldn't," Hoss had said, " 'cause the only woman who would have you in her bed is one who couldn't see clear!"

And they had all laughed except for Joe who had accused them of thinking they were funny—and they were the only ones who did—and of being envious of his ability to charm any female.

But unbeknownst to Joe, Anissa Johansson had an older sister at home and when Joe went to call the first night, Signe answered the door. If Anissa was pretty, Signe was stunning. Joe smiled and said that he was there to see Anissa. She said her sister wasn't home, grabbed Joe by the arm and pulled him into the swing on the front porch. Joe was happy to oblige and within a few minutes, Signe was cuddling up next to him. And just when he was about to kiss her, having decided that Signe would be his bride, the front door flew open and Anissa stormed out. The two sisters began to argue over the handsome gentleman caller and Joe tried to intervene, to help resolve the issue and feeling very flattered until he realized that the argument wasn't really about him but more about rivalry between the two blonde sisters. But before they could come to blows, their father came out, ordered them to stop fighting over the visitor as he himself would be the one to decide who they would marry and when. Then Mr. Johansson proceeded to kick Joe out. Joe protested, that is until Mr. Johansson stepped in the house, took down his shotgun and pointed it at Joe. Joe politely and quickly left the premises and when he told his family what happened, expecting their sympathy at his lost love and their envy that two beautiful sisters fought over him, all he received was laughter and jibes for the next few weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

But as Hoss ate, Adam's mind went back to Marjorie and the trip. After seeing her off on the train, Adam had ridden back to the Ponderosa from Carson City's depot; he felt uneasy. He knew that the lawyer's report on Marjorie's sister was incomplete but she wouldn't wait any longer, was anxious to see her sister again.

"Now that I know where she is and that she's married, I want to see her as soon as possible. Why I might even be an aunt!"

"I don't think you should go yet, Margie. Wait a while for more information and I'll go with you. This is such a bad time for me to leave but if we wait, Stratford said the investigation wasn't through."

"I don't need any more investigating done—I know what I needed to know—my sister is alive and living in a hotel in Baltimore! She must be well-off so I'm pleased with that. And, Adam. I'm not a child even though you sometimes treat me like one! I'm perfectly capable of traveling on my own."

"But you'll have to change trains in Oklahoma City and…"

"Adam, I'll be fine." Marjorie gave him a quick kiss and continued finishing packing. He stood and watched until she laughed at his serious expression and told him to go downstairs. Didn't he have work to do? Ask Mrs. Hardesty to put on a pot of coffee before she left for the day.

Adam reluctantly left Marjorie alone but he felt a sense of unease about the whole thing.

Although Adam, knew that Marjorie had traveled home from Europe on her own, he still felt uneasy. That her sister went by Mrs. Mason, didn't necessarily mean she was married. But he convinced himself it did, that she was married and happily. And Marjorie promised to wire when she arrived in Baltimore. So Adam convinced himself he was worrying over nothing and turned his mind to the contracts and the deals he would make in Pasadena. And he kept himself busy with business. After all, Marjorie was going to be gone for two months—two months without her and Adam surprised himself by feeling oddly relieved.

~ 0 ~

The knock on the door caused Madeline Purl to stop in her tracks. She was hesitant to open it as no one came to visit this time of evening. Markham had just left her and Madeline was eager to bathe, was eager to wash off the taint of his hands, what he had left on her thighs. She was a great actress and Markham never knew how she truly felt toward him, not that she believed he would care as long as she did as she was asked no matter how painful or how humiliating it was for her. Besides, if it were Markham returning, he would have let himself in with his own key.

Of late, Madeline had begun to think about how much longer Markham would keep her; she had become used to her luxurious way of life and the thought of being thrown out to make her living on the streets haunted her constantly. But Madeline was a realist and knew that she wouldn't be young and desirable for many more years so she hid away money, stole bills from Markham's wallet as he slept—not too much at one time, Just one or two fifty or hundred dollar bills, not enough that Markham would notice but over time, her secret stash of money had grown quite large. And every month, Markham deposited a generous amount in her personal account that he had opened for her at the bank. Although Madeline wasn't sure of the total amount involved as Markham's accountant kept the records, she was sure it was grand as the bank manager always kowtowed to her and behaved in an obsequious manner when she came to withdraw money or remove her most expensive jewelry from the vault. But then, Madeline knew, he also salivated over her as if she would bother to gift the toady with anything more than her gloved hand to kiss and a superficial smile. It was only the money and the expensive hotel suite, Madeline knew, that separated her, a paramour, from a common prostitute or woman of the streets. And in a few years, if not sooner, she would lose all that gave her security.

Madeline's personal maid, Pauline, a young girl of 17, stood in the doorway to the sleeping chamber. She looked questioningly at her employer.

"Shall I answer it, ma'am?"

Madeline thought quickly. "No. I will but first, fetch the derringer from my bedside." There was a knock on the door again. Then a vaguely familiar voice could barely be heard on the other side of the door.

"Madeline—it's me—Marjorie-your sister. Please open up?"

Madeline's heart pounded. Her sister, Marjorie, her sister she hadn't seen since they were 16. Madeline paused and Pauline came rushing back with the small derringer. Holding the gun in one hand, Madeline opened the door with the other and stepped back. The face that stared back at her was her own and yet it wasn't.

"Maddie?" Marjorie stood at the threshold. She waited to be asked in but Madeline had gone pale and seemingly mute. "Aren't you going to ask me in?"

"Yes. Of course. I just..." Madeline stepped aside and Marjorie walked into the sitting room, admiring its elegance; she didn't notice Madeline handing the derringer to Pauline and whispering an instruction. Then Madeline turned her attention to her sister. "Sit down, won't you?"

"Is that it? You ask me to sit as if I were just a common visitor? I've come all the way from Nevada to see you, Maddie."

"I just…" Madeline leaned over and kissed Marjorie's cheek. Marjorie reached out to hug her sister but Madeline stepped away. "Please, Margie, please…this is such a shock…I…please sit."

Marjorie did and looked about her. The chair on which she sat was covered in a rich brocade and the carpeting was plush, so unlike the multi-colored Indian woven rugs on the floors in Nevada which gave practically no cushioning under one's feet; it seemed their only purpose was to add interesting patterns and colors to the area, to offset the darkened pine floors. But these rugs were meant to give the impression of luxury and elegance—and wealth.

Madeine sat on the edge of the sofa opposite her sister. "Pauline is bringing us some tea—or would you prefer coffee? I suppose I don't really know what you prefer anymore…it's been so long and..."

"Tea is fine. I don't have it much at home, my husband likes coffee.."

"You're married! How nice," Madeline said.

"Yes, happily as well. And his family is all men who live on coffee! But a nice cup of milky tea—like we had at our tea parties when we were small. Remember? Nurse would fix a pot of tea in the kitchen—we would wait and wait to hear the teapot whistle. Remember?" Madeline nodded, a small smile gracing her lovely face at the memory. "Then she would pour some into our little teapot and we would sit our dolls on the floor around the little table. Do you remember? We would pretend we were entertaining grand visitors like Mother and Father did. And we would put the sugar loaves in our mouths and let them melt." Marjorie smiled at the memory.

Madeline laughed lightly. "Yes, I remember. Life was fun then." Madeline looked down at her hands. She had wanted to wash them after they had intimately touched Markham. She stood. "Excuse me for just a moment—please. I just need to…I'll be back in a moment."

Madeline left her sister sitting alone and went into the bathing room off her bedroom. She washed her hands thoroughly and after drying them, sprinkled rosewater in one palm, rubbed her palms together and patted rosewater on her neck and arms, having pushed up the sleeves of her wrap. The robe was a delicate color of yellow silk with embroidered roses of various colors. It had come all the way from Paris, one of many gifts from Markham over the past five years. He always brought her back gifts—jewelry, expensive clothes, candies or anything else; he was far more generous wither, his mistress, than with his wife. And while at the time Madeline had shown him proper gratitude for the heavy, yellow silk robe, she took her mind off what she was enduring by imagining an old woman sitting bent over the piece of silk and deftly working a needle with silk thread in and out of the fabric just as Markham made similar motions on top of her.

Madeline looked in the mirror. It was early evening and the gas lights cast shadows under her eyes. She went to her vanity and powdered her face and her exposed décolletage and then, looking in the mirror looming tall over the vanity top, she adjusted her robe, checked her smile and went back out to the sitting room where Marjorie was accepting a cup of tea.

Pauline handed one to Madeline as well and held out the plate of little cakes she had decided she should serve; Pauline knew that the Missus would have told her to but after the argument earlier with Mr. Markham, well, the Missus was upset; he had treated her roughly.

"No, thank you, Pauline." Madeline watched as Marjorie pulled off her gloves and placed a few cakes on her plate, and then smiled and said, "Thank you."

"Please leave us now," Madeline said and Pauline gave a small nod and left to her tiny room off the sitting room where she slept. She would have to wait until after the Missus' company left to eat her dinner but in the meantime she opened a drawer in the highboy and pulled out a box of sugared fruits that Mr. Markham had given her the other day. He often gave her a few coins as well and because he did, Pauline allowed him to cup her buttocks and pinch her breasts whenever he came over. If the Missus was in love with the man, Pauline would never have allowed any of it, would have told the Missus who would have put a stop to it—she was sure of that. But even though Mr. Markham was a handsome man in his 40's, well-dressed and wealthy with excellent manners and cultivated tastes, the Missus didn't love him; of that Pauline was sure. And Pauline well understood why.

On a few occasions when Mr. Markham left the suite, Pauline would go into the chamber and the Missus would be lying among the linen sheets and down-filled cushions, curled up, marks on her pale skin, welts on her back and buttocks. Then Pauline would quickly run a cool bath, pour in sweet rose-oil and help the Missus to the tub where she would soak for hours, hot water being added when it cooled too much. And Pauline would sit and wait in case she was called or in case, God forbid, the Missus should intentionally slip under the water again only this time, not be found in time to save her.

"Why have you come, Marjorie? After all this time—why? Did Father die? Mother? Those are the only reasons you could have to search me out. And how did you find me? Hire a Pinkerton?"

As hungry as she was after her long trip, Marjorie put down her cakes. "Father died a few years ago but he had been ill for about two years before. I wanted to look for you then but Mother, she required too much of my time. You know how she depended on me."

"Yes. You were her daughter—the one she always favored."

"Now, Madeline, that's not so. If you hadn't been so argumentative all the time, if you would have just listened instead of arguing…"

"All right, Marjorie. I know my faults. You're not the only one to have pointed them out. Has she died as well?"

"Yes. That's why we hired a lawyer to find you?"

"We?"

"Yes, my husband and I."

Madeline's face softened. "I'm happy for you, Margie, that you've found a man who loves you. You don't know how rare that is. Cherish him and I hope you love him and he loves you."

"He does. And I do. But you're married as well, aren't you. You're Mrs. Marsh and looking at this place, Mr. Marsh must be very wealthy. How lucky you are…I mean my husband's family is wealthy but we don't live this…grandly."

Madeline gave a disdainful laugh. "About the Mrs., I adopted that for respectability—if there's any respectability I can still gain. ButI don't want to talk about myself. Tell me, where do you live?"

In Nevada. I'm Mrs. Adam Cartwright. My husband is wonderful but stubborn and…well, he can be forceful…but we're happy."

"Any children?"

"Not yet. But we've only been married a short time—a year and half or so. Besides, I couldn't handle having a child right now."

The two sisters sat in silence. Marjorie took a bite out of one of the little cakes; they were rich and filling. She wondered if Madeline ate them. As always, Madeline was a bit rounder, her bosom a bit fuller but she still had a look of delicacy about her like a fine porcelain doll that was dressed in satin and laces and kept in a glass-front cupboard for viewing but not for touching, not for bringing out into everyday life.

The room had heavy, velvet drapes that had been drawn and there were figurines of cherubs and paintings of classical nudes and of landscapes of the French countryside. The whole room was typically gaudy, Marjorie thought, all done in Rococo with its flourishes and gilt. It was suffocating after the openness and rough-hewn wood of the Ponderosa ranch house or her own house. But it was the painting of Madeline over the marble fireplace that now attracted her attention.

"Is that you?" Marjorie asked in a shocked tone.

"It could be you," Madeline said with a sly smile when she saw Marjorie blush.

The painting depicted a reclining Madeline lying on her side, her back to the viewer, in the manner of Ingres' _Odalisque_. Her beautiful, pale face was looking over her shoulder with one breast showing slightly under her raised arm. Her spine curved down to her partially hidden buttocks, her black hair waving over her shoulders and down her back. And a huge, teardrop-shaped pearl hung from one exposed earlobe.

Marjorie turned back to her sister. "It could never be me for I wouldn't ever pose for such a shameful picture. I'm working to change men's opinions of women, to have them see that we are intelligent, honorable people just as they are."

"Are you telling me that your husband wouldn't enjoy seeing a painting of you like that hanging over your fireplace, that he wouldn't spend many an enjoyable hour admiring the curve of your waist, the rise of your hips?"

"What's happened to you, Madeline? You were never like this"

"What's happened to me? Quite a bit actually. I would give you the painting as a memento of me but Thaddeus, he paid quite a sum to the artist, and he would protest. Vociferously and with a great deal of force." Madeline looked at the painting, remembering all the days of posing in the artist's studio and how he would kiss her bare shoulder and tell her that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever painted. And once he knelt and kissed her bare feet telling her that her feet alone deserved to be painted, that he found that merely the remembered image of her carried him through the empty nights, took him to heights of ecstasy. And Madeline had to do nothing but watch the man she decided was a fool; everyone knew money was the only aphrodisiac—at least she had learned that lesson.

And when Marjorie stated her reason for her trip, Madeline listened.


	4. Chapter 4

"I came here, not just because I wanted to see you again, but also because there's money; I want to give you half and there are mother's few jewels—I've brought them—they're in my room—it's down one floor-and you can have first choice of what you want. There is a pearl pendant, a gold cross, a pair of gold cameo earbobs…"

Madeline smiled knowingly. She silently rose and went into her bed chamber and came back with a large casket of burled wood. The top was inlaid with multicolored mother-of-pearl and gold wire in the designs of roses and birds. She placed it on the low carved table in front of Marjorie.

"Open it." Madeline sat back down and Marjorie scooted forward in the chair so that she could open the lid of the chest. Inside glittered jewelry and she gave a gasp of appreciation. She lifted up the top tray and saw more jewels in the bottom. Marjorie had never seen such riches.

"As you can see," Madeline said, "I don't lack for jewels. Keep all of mother's jewelry for yourself or sell them—I have no need of them…but the money, that I could use."

Marjorie glanced up and saw that Madeline was serious.

"Why do you need money—not that I won't give you your half—but why do you need it when you can get a fortune for these?" Marjorie picked up a ruby and diamond necklace. She had never seen anything so lovely and she coveted it. Then she chastised herself; if she had it she would sell it and put it toward the home for abandoned women she was trying to build in Virginia City. The west was rife with women, filthy, bedraggled children hiding behind their skirts, whose husbands had abandoned them to strike it rich elsewhere. The churches did what they could but the frazzled, harried women often lost their sanity and it wasn't unusual for children to disappear and later be found in a shallow grave dug into the backyard or thrown in a ditch. One infant had been found by the Sheriff floating in a well, not having yet sunk heavily to the bottom.

The fact was that many miners, many homesteaders, when they realized their dreams were not materializing in one place, often packed up, telling their wives and children that they would send for them when they found a new stake. But more often than not, the family was abandoned and the deserted woman had to struggle to put food in her children's hungry mouths. Marjorie wanted to build a large building, "like a hotel," she had explained to Adam, "and they can live there for as long as they need. They won't have to pay any rent or pay for food—just help out while they're trained in some profession. And the children, they would be fed and given clothes that actually fit. We're raising money for it and already taking donations of clothing. Those of us who have should help those in need."

Adam had supported Marjorie's idea and contributed a great deal of money but so far, the Woman's House as Marjorie and the other women in the auxiliary wanted to call it, was still only half-built.

Madeline stood up and began to slowly pace. "I can't sell them. Anyone I approached, a jeweler, a pawn broker…they would know what I was doing and in order to get into Thaddeus' good graces would report my actions. But If I have money of my own…well, I could leave here, get away."

"Who is Thaddeus? You said you're not married…oh. Madeline. Is he…does he keep you?"

"How did you think I managed all this, Marjorie? Selling pencils on the street?"

Marjorie stood up and gently took her sister in her arms and Madeline felt all the love for her twin come rushing back at the embrace; it was as if they had never been parted.

"Oh, Marjorie…things are so awful!" Madeline began to cry. The warmth of her twin's embrace, the soothing smell of lemon verbena took her back to their mother who always wore the scent.

"It's all right," Marjorie said. They clung to one another. "It will all be all right. You'll come home with me. You'll be welcomed as one of the family—you'll have a family that will love you and accept you. It will all be all right." Marjorie felt sure of what she said but Madeleine, she knew that nothing in her life would ever be all right. Nothing. But right now her sister was here, the other half of her, and she felt stronger. And she would never allow Thaddeus Markham to see her sister. He was too twisted in his desires, too perverted in his pleasures and like always, since she was the oldest, she would protect Marjorie as she always had when they were young. Always.

 **~ 0 ~**

Ben woke. What woke him, he wasn't sure, but it was far too dark for it to be close to waking. He sat up to get his glasses to check his pocket watch on the bedside table but stopped. He thought he discerned light under his door. Nothing obvious, nothing glaring, but a slight light. He rose from bed, slid his feet in his slippers, pulled on his robe and tied the cord about the waist.

Stopping at his bedroom door, he wondered if he should take the loaded pistol he kept in a drawer but decided not to. What thief would turn on a light? It was probably Joe quelling hunger pangs although he had eaten his fill at dinner that night. Marjorie though hadn't been hungry—barely ate anything and excused herself with profuse apologies to Hop Sing, before dessert. Hop Sing had been crushed as he had made her favorite—raisin pie. He had even made lemon custard to spoon on the top.

"What wrong with Missy? She not be herself? She not have Hop Sing's raisin pie."

"It was a rough trip—a long one," Ben said trying to smooth things over. "Marjorie's just tired. I'm sure she'll have some at breakfast." That was Marjorie's habit; she often had dessert left over from the previous night's dinner, that is, if there was any after Hoss' midnight snack forays.

"Looks like things didn't go too well with her sister either," Joe added. "Adam was worried something like that might happen."

"Well, let him worry about that," Ben had said. "I expect the two tomorrow and she'll perk up once Adam's home and she can be back in her own house. Women always prefer being in their own homes."

Joe had just shrugged and then helped himself to his serving of pie and custard.

So expecting Joe to be scarfing down a huge piece of pie, Ben was surprised when he reached the landing to see Marjorie sitting on the settee and sipping what looked like a glass of whiskey. Ben took in the scene. Obviously, she had put more wood of the embers and had started a decent fire to heat the cool room. A bottle of aged, single-cask, Macallan Scotch, expensive and rare, sat on the table in front of her and she was holding the neck of her yellow silk wrap closed with one hand while she sipped the amber liquid.

Ben continued down the stairs and Marjorie swung her head toward him, obviously surprised. As always, when he caught Marjorie unawares, Ben always considered how very beautiful she was, how physically desirable a woman she was. And he envied his son. But he had known a few beautiful women himself and it was time to step aside; youth must be served.

"I'm sorry," she said, putting both hands around the squat glass. "I didn't mean to wake anyone." She noticed that Ben was looking at the glass she held and at the bottle before her. "I hope it's all right. I couldn't sleep and sometimes a glass—or two—helps me. I have so much on my mind."

Ben forced a smile. "Of course you can help yourself to anything. You know that—this is your home as well." He reached the bottom of the stairs. "May I join you?"

"Well, of course. I was just about to leave and go back upstairs…"

Ben pulled a glass from the unlocked liquor cabinet. He had left the key in the lock—they always did. "Stay and keep me company for just for one drink. That usually does it for me when I'm restless." He reached for the bottle and poured himself "two fingers" and then sat in his usual red leather chair. As a boy, Joe had always referred to it as "Pa's chair" and so it was.

Ben sipped the drink. Marjorie seemed anxious and embarrassed at being caught.

"I'm a little surprised to see you drinking since you even decline wine. I know how you feel about spirits—you eschew them." Ben waited. His daughter-in-law had never struck him as a hypocrite. If anything, she was too honest, proud of her activism, entrenched in her beliefs and although Ben didn't agree with some of her opinions, he had to laud her determination and always was the first to state that her heart was in the right place. Marjorie had even corralled him into helping with her favorite charities and he reluctantly agreed—actually not having any other option, and helped teach Paiute children numbers and how to calculate. A teacher for the Indian school hadn't yet been secured so the Women's Church Guild arranged volunteers to go to the reservation three days a week to help teach reading, writing and mathematics. But drinking spirits, Marjorie had always lectured on the evils of alcohol, how it had ruined the Indians.

"I just…I couldn't sleep so I thought I would…I hope you don't mind that I helped myself. The chest was unlocked." She stared into her glass and swirled the fluid.

"Of course not and if you prefer, we won't tell Adam; it'll be our secret." Ben smiled and then took a sip. It coursed through his body, warming him. He considered that grain alcohol was an odd choice for Marjorie, for someone not accustomed to alcohol, especially since there was sherry available. But perhaps she was so ignorant about the whole subject of spirits that she didn't know any better, that she inadvertently picked their most expensive bottle in the cabinet. But then it had been behind all the other bottles. The Cartwright men usually chose the Kentucky whiskey for a quick drink so those bottles sat in front. The Macallan was only for guests, and important ones at that. But Marjorie neither coughed at the impact of the Scotch as she sipped it nor did she behave as if the taste was abhorrent. Instead she held each sip on her tongue for a few seconds before she swallowed, emptying the glass. She then reached for the bottle and holding it, hesitated. She looked at Ben.

"Go ahead," Ben said. "One is enough for me but you do look as if you've had a bad time of it in Baltimore." Ben, by looking at the bottle and considering his glass, calculated that Marjorie was on her third glass—and she showed no effects.

After replacing the cork, she sat back and sipped her drink.

"Did things go badly? If you don't want to talk, just tell me but you seem to need to."

"Seeing her, well…" She thought quickly. What did she want to tell him; it would have to jibe with what she told Adam later for she was certain he would ask. "She has three children. I have three nephews I 'd never met. The oldest is eight and then, a five year old and an infant. It made me sad that they didn't even know who I was. The five year old—Tommy—he warmed to me immediately and one day I took him and his older brother out for ice cream. I enjoyed it so much that it made me wish for children—five or six of them and have them running all over the house."

Ben laughed deeply. "I wish for the same. Maybe we should both talk to Adam." He smiled and for a moment Marjorie stared at Ben, unsure of his meaning but then she smiled as well and took another sip.

"She didn't want any of the inheritance—told me to please keep it but I feel so guilty. I wanted to leave it for the children but she just laughed. Her husband is well-off, a wealthy businessman and as for the hotel suite, that's just during the winter; in the spring, once the snows stop, they whole family moves to their country house. It all sounded so lovely." She took another sip. "I suppose it's sinful to envy one's sister."

"We can't help or change how we feel—it's the things we do that count."

"Yes, I suppose so." She tipped back her head, her elegant throat arching and she gulped the rest of the Scotch.

Ben was shocked-this was no amateur, no neophyte to drinking and Ben wondered where Marjorie had acquired her tolerance for alcohol. And did Adam know? Ben thought not.

She stood and bent down to place her glass on the table. "I think I'll be able to sleep now," she said. "I'm glad we had this talk. I feel better already."

Ben stood as well, still holding his glass. "Sleep well, my dear. I'm sure you'll sleep better after Adam's home."

She smiled again but as she climbed the stairs grasping the rail as she was beginning to feel a bit dizzy and unsure of each rise. What amazed her was how coolly she had lied; and she was certain Ben had believed her, had bought the whole concocted story.

But Ben hadn't. He could accept that one childless woman might envy a woman with many children, no matter who she was. But something about the story rang false to him. And then there was the Scotch. But maybe in the time Marjorie was gone, her sister taught her to drink—or it had been a past habit. But no mother of three boys, all under eight years would drink—although he admitted, his three boys had often made him wish he could drink to insensibility. No, something was wrong—very wrong and he would have to feel things out before he mentioned any of it Adam.

~ 0 ~

Adam walked into the dark bedroom; his wife was sleeping, her back turned to him. The couple had stayed in this room, his room, before their own house was finished. This room was where Adam had indulged his youthful fantasies of loving a perfect woman, of having a "wanton" make small noises of delight beneath him and although that seemed like a lifetime ago, almost as if he no longer had any connection to that lusty young man he once was, it still made him feel odd to have a woman there.

It had been two days since he had last bathed and he raised one arm checking himself through his clothes. Adam decided he wasn't offensive—it was still cool since summer hadn't yet come in all its ferocious heat and he hadn't really broken a sweat on the trip back. So in the darkness, he sat on the easy chair in the corner and pulled off his boots. He placed them upright. Then he stood and undressed, tossing his clothes over the same chair in the corner.

He paused by the bedside, trying to decide if he should awaken Marjorie or not. If she woke and wasn't aware it was he, well, it might upset her to feel someone in the bed beside her. Adam decided to wake her just to let her know he was home. And if she wanted him, if she put out her arms and welcomed him to her, he might take it further; he was never too tired to enjoy his wife.

Adam slipped into the bed and lying on his side, slid an arm under his wife and she moved slightly.

"Marjorie," he whispered, "I'm home." He touched her hair and she made a sound of surprise and pulled away, sitting up in the bed. Her thin cambric gown revealed the shape of her breasts and the narrowness of her waist. She looked beautiful, her thick, black hair that she usually kept in one long braid for night, loose about her shoulders.

She looked at him and dread overcame her. So he was home. She hadn't expected him tonight. Her heart pounded at being woken and then by him—him. What were his expectations after being without his wife for so long?

"You frightened me. I didn't expect…"

He laughed and she was thrilled by the deepness of his voice. In the dim light she could make out the shape of his shoulders and the thick mat of chest hair.

"Come to me," he said and reached out for her. "C'mon. Welcome me home."

She hesitated. "I…I haven't felt well and I've been so tired…" Her mind swirled; how could she put him off, postpone what must eventually occur?

"It's all right." He reached for her and she still held back. "What is it?" He had propped himself up on one arm.

"I just…" She began to cry.

"Now, don't cry. I don't think I smell that bad!" Adam smiled softly and pulled her into his arms; she stiffened but he kissed her hair. "Don't cry, love. I imagine things didn't go well with your sister or you wouldn't have come home so soon. And then I wasn't there to meet you. I'm sorry, sweetheart." He tipped her face up and took her mouth. _Whiskey…she smelled like whiskey._ He leaned back to look at her upturned face. "Have you been drinking?"

"What?" She pulled away.

"You smell-you taste like whiskey. Have you been drinking, Margie?"

Her mind raced. If she told him no and then his father told him that she had been, he would know she lied and that would cause more questions. But his father had said that it was going to be their secret and that he wouldn't tell Adam. But could he be trusted? She took a chance.

"I have a sore inside my cheek—I bit it and then it swelled and I kept biting it and..." She stopped herself—she was over-explaining. "I swirled whiskey I found downstairs. That's why I smell the way I do. Are you angry?"

Adam sensed she was lying but it wasn't worth challenging her. He let it slide. "Of course not, it just surprised me. Maybe it'll soften your stance. See, there's a good reason to have spirits in the house-medicinal." He chuckled and she smiled, more in relief than anything else. "Now I'll let you go back to sleep. It's late—actually close to morning." He lay back and held her next to him, her head on his chest, his arm firmly around her, and she listened to his heart pound. That sound, that consistent, constant thud of blood flowing through his being that made her more aware of him as a human, a person who had his own beliefs, his own fears and his own faults. And from all she knew—he loved her—he loved his wife. But she was determined to be wary. All would eventually smooth out. She would use the story of her disturbing trip—and it had been disturbing—that wasn't a lie, as an excuse for her behavior should he continue questions in the morning.

Soon she could hear Adam softly snoring, not a harsh rattle but enough to disturb her; lately she never slept well. She gently pulled away from him, moving from under his arm so as not to wake him. His breathing was interrupted but then he rolled on his side, still asleep, and she lay down, turning her back to him. She needed to sleep but all she could think about was her sister and the visit. She sighed deeply and her mind churned with thoughts and regrets. What would Adam think when he found out the truth? She hoped it would never come to that—and she could control that—it was in her power. But she kept going over the events of the last week—over and over until she thought she would go mad.

 _"_ _Stay with me while you're here. There's more than enough room and once Pauline changes the linen, well, it'll be like the old days. Remember how we would talk and laugh at night and nurse would tell us that if we didn't hush up and go to sleep, she'd separate us, put one of us in the guest room?"_

 _"_ _Oh…oh, that would be fun to stay here. And Nurse NEVER carried through! But I shouldn't. My husband wired the money ahead and the room's already paid up for a week—and the room is so nice. Not as nice as this one…" Marjorie looked about the sumptuous rooms. Then she turned to her sister and grinned mischievously. "Oh, why not? Of course I'll stay!" The two women hugged each other and laughed._

 _"_ _Pauline!"_

 _"_ _Yes, Missus."_

 _"_ _Change the linens on my bed and then I want you to fetch my sister's valise from her room. Give her the key, Marjorie."_

 _"_ _Oh, I can get my luggage myself. It's only one bag—I have that and my coat, hat and purse I laid on the bed."_

 _"_ _Nonsense. Pauline will get it all. Now sit down. You said you have a husband." The sisters sat together on the sofa, angled themselves to face each other and held hands. Madeline lifted her sister's hands to her lips. "My baby sister! Oh, I missed you and I wanted so much to tell you about…but later, later."_

 _"_ _Baby sister? Maddie, you're only a few minutes older!"_

 _The sisters laughed. "Am I as pretty as you, Margie? You are still as lovely as when we were 16."_

 _"_ _Prettier. But you always were."_

 _"_ _That's ridiculous. We look exactly the same."_

 _Tonight they would catch up on all that had happened in the intervening years and then curl up in the big bed and sleep as they did when children, one raven head touching the other, arms about each other, safe within their world._


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh, my goodness, Madeline—these clothes are beautiful. Oh—what a magnificent gown!" Marjorie reached into the towering wardrobe and pulled out a deep green watered-silk gown, the fitted bodice covered in seed pearls. She held it up against her and looked at her reflection in the mirror attached to the inside of one of the wardrobe's doors.

"Oh, that dress—it is lovely, isn't it? Cost a pretty penny too. I wore that at the Governor's Inaugural Ball. I had pink roses in my hair and the governor made a point of dancing with me. He didn't dance very well but I behaved as if he was the finest dancer in the world! And he glanced down my cleavage a few times too!"

"Oh, Madeline, you are shameless!" Marjorie said and the two women giggled. "But you must have looked beautiful in it. Oh, and that coat!" Marjorie hung the dress back in and reached out and touched a heavy, brocaded velvet coat, the collar, ends of the sleeves and the hem trimmed with softest fur she had ever felt.

"That's Russian sable."

"Where did you get it?" Marjorie slipped it on and was amazed at its heaviness and warmth.

"It was a gift from a Mr. Stanislav; he tried to win me over from…well, it doesn't matter. He had an atrocious accent and I could barely understand what he said but he would pinch my cheek with his large, hammy hands and wink at me. I think he asked me to run away with him to Moscow—or some place in Russia—but I'm not really sure. And he was a sloppy kisser. He would kiss my hand and it would almost drip with saliva!" The sisters laughed again. "Actually, all the dresses, the gowns, the jewels, all of them are gifts."

Marjorie ran her hands over the fur on the sleeves and turned away from the wardrobe, facing her sister. "You're being kept by a man, aren't you? BY that Thaddeus you're always talking about."

"Well, it took you long enough to out with it. Yes, Marjorie, I've found that it's a pleasant life, on the whole, that is until you're asked to earn your keep in distasteful ways. But wouldn't you fall on your back and toss up your skirts for a closet-full of clothes like that, for the jewels and this…" Madeline looked about her. "This place is even more luxurious that our home in Virginia. And I'm kept by a powerful man here in Baltimore and on the whole, it's a good exchange. He gets what he wants and so do I."

"But how could you hold yourself so…lightly. How could you lay with a man you don't love?"

Madeline laughed and Marjorie was shocked by the sound; it was mirthless. Marjorie pulled off the coat and lay it on the bed.

"Trust me, it's just as easy to be with a man you don't love as it is with a man you do. I should know." Madeline noticed the look of disapproval from Marjorie. "But then you're kept by a man as well, aren't you, Margie? You've told me how handsome, how smart, how wealthy and good your husband is but aren't you being kept by him? Think about it, Marjorie. Don't you provide him with a body that he can satisfy his desires with? If you don't, he might very well go to someone like me. Right?"

Madeline felt mean. Earlier, with little prodding, Marjorie had gone on to describe her life as the wife of a wealthy rancher In Nevada, how she had been courted by Adam Cartwright, the handsome eldest son, whose family owned thousands upon thousands of acres of pine trees and cattle and silver mines. Marjorie had emphasized how much in love she and her husband were, how he adored her and indulged her. She had effused about how her husband supported her in her efforts to "break the chains that keep women as domestic prisoners!" And when she talked about liberating her sex from the shackles of domesticity, her voice took on a passion that women usually reserved for speaking of their children or much-loved spouses. "Adam knows that education is the way out of poverty and that women also need to be able to vote in order to maintain control over their lives."

"Education. Voting. You can't possible think that's all women need. Listen to me, Margie, as long as we have to deal with men," Madeline said fiercely, "we'll never have control over our lives, not through legislation. I chose what I had to do to survive and I think I made the right decision." But Madeline knew it was a lie; she often wished she could go back and alter so many factors but this was the road she was on.

Madeline sighed heavily, regretting her snide remarks. She took her sister's hand. If Marjorie had been so fortunate as to find the one man in the world who respected his wife and treated her well, put aside his own selfish needs to indulge hers, then Madeline was happy for her. But envy crept in as well.

Marjorie dropped her voice, softened the tone. "But aren't you ashamed, Madeline? Even a little bit about what you do? You're so clever and you were the better student, smarter than I am, quicker and even prettier than I am although Mother used to say it wasn't true. I used to be envious of you, Maddie, especially when Johnny Talbot…do you remember him?" Marjorie giggled.

"Oh, yes!" Madeline laughed. "Johnny Talbot. We thought he was so handsome—and we were all only 12! We were so silly! We would walk home with him, me on one side and you on the other and slip our arms through his. We would try so hard to get his attention for ourselves!"

"And I was jealous because he preferred you. I don't know what you did, Maddie, but he wouldn't give me the time of day…"

"I let him kiss me," Madeline said. "That's what I did."

"You did what?"

"Oh, don't act so surprised. I just let him kiss me and after that he was always bringing me things, peppermints and butterscotch, ribbons for my hair and such, hoping to get another kiss but I never again allowed it. He would pout and act hurt but that only made me despise him. So I kissed him once and came out the better."

"You always said you 'found' the ribbons."

"Did you really believe me? Mother never did. She questioned me and kept telling me that liars and thieves go to hell. But I never changed my story."

"But our parents gave us everything we wanted. We had more than most—father made a good living—was an excellent editor. He ran the most important newspaper in Richmond."

"Yes, but I enjoyed Johnny's attentions and his gifts. But then I outgrew him—he was only a boy after all. I set my sights on Arthur Bradley. He was so handsome—a dashing reporter!"

"Madeline, he was…"

"…24. I think it was because of me that we were sent away to boarding school. I think Mother hoped a strict Teutonic upbringing could change me—make me toe the line, especially since there were no boys there. It seems that Johnny was stealing all the gifts from his parents' notions store—including the money—and confessed the things were for me, that I had kissed him. Mrs. Talbot told our parents and said I was 'loose.' I was told I was ruining your reputation as well and Mother said that you wouldn't love me anymore if you knew-that you would be shamed along with me…I believed her so I never told you."

The two women were quiet for a moment.

To break the mood, Madeline cheerfully said, "Margie, why don't you try on the green gown—I still have the paper roses I wore in my hair—I'll get them and if you like it, you can have the dress to take back with you—and any other dress you like—anything. Your husband will like you in a posh gown, I'm sure. And you can choose some of my jewelry—pick your favorite pieces."

"Madeline, don't act so blasé. You broke our parents' hearts when you ran away from school—and my heart too. I can't tell you how I worried and then, well, we heard nothing from you. I always assumed you stayed in Europe but then we had that letter years ago…and, I wrote you back but after a month, the letter was returned unopened and it said you were no longer there. Why did you leave us for so long? Mother and father, they wanted you home."

Madeline turned her back and walked to her vanity. She ran her fingers over the patterned silver brush and comb set. She knew she could sell them and receive a few hundred dollars—that thought always came to her when she lifted the heavy sliver pieces. She found it comforting to have things she could sell if she needed money.

"I don't think they would have wanted me home—not after what I did." Madeline turned to her sister. "Do you remember Meister Ritter?"

"Of course I do. After all, he was the best looking teacher…oh, Madeline. You didn't."

Madeline looked at her sister and saw that Marjorie really had no idea of what she had done.

"I'm sure the head mistress knew what I did. After all, he and I disappeared at the same time."

"We were told his wife was ill…" Marjorie sat on the side of the bed and Madeline sat beside her.

"His first name was Kurt—such a strong name—so unlike him. He was so delicate, so elegant with those beautiful long, thin hands—like an artist. I'd like to blame him for what happened, but it was me who said I wanted him first. He said that he had always…wanted me as well but I was so young. I told him I was 16, old enough. Many women at 16 were already married and had two or three children.

"I thought I was in love, Margie. Actually, I think I was in love—for a time. It's amazing what kills love. Kurt was young and handsome and so poetic! He would read me poetry just like Werther did Charlotte in the novel. I called him Young Werther and he said that I was the heroine in my own life and that he loved me the way that Werther did Charlotte—for her beauty and grace and sympathetic heart—loved me chastely. At school, I would slip out to meet him—he would sneak out of his house, give some reason to his wife or slip out of their bed and we would meet in the fields—it was summer then—and he said everything a young girl wants a man to say. It wasn't contrived, he was sincere. He did love me and I did love him—truly-at least at the time And he, well, he seemed content to just love me chastely when what I wanted most was the physical aspect-but he said that it would be a sin. But he promised to take me away just as I had asked him so many times before—someplace where we could be together. Apparently that wasn't a sin. Be careful of people who pick and choose individual morality.

"Anyway, running away with him made sense to me-I would get what I wanted and he would get what he wanted—it was an even exchange, a barter. And do you know what?" Madeline turned back to Marjorie who sat in astonishment; she couldn't believe what she was hearing—the confession from the sister she thought she knew so well unnerved her. "I was 17 before we consummated our "love" and I was greatly disappointed. There was no 'transport of the soul,' no ecstatic delight—nothing really and by then and we were living in Frankfurt in a small house—almost a hovel-next to a slaughterhouse—the flies were awful and the stench was worse. 'Meister Ritter' was tutoring, teaching French to snotty little rich brats, as he had at school and we were barely getting by when I caught the eye of a government official when I was out—his name was Dieter Lautenschlager." Madeline laughed. "He wanted to marry me. Can you imagine me known as Frau Lautenschlager? I didn't want to marry him but I did want to get away from Kurt and that horrible place and what he had become—living with him was…he would weep and moan over never seeing his wife again and wondered aloud if she would ever forgive him. He was so weak. He repulsed me.

"So I moved out of that house and in with Dieter. He took great care of me but one night after a party and too much champagne for us both, he slapped me for talking to another man. He said that I didn't appreciate all that he gave me and that he should kick me out. We had an argument. I wasn't very good with German and he spoke English badly but there was no mistaking what he called me—a whore-in both English and German. The ridiculous part was I didn't know what the word meant—I was still so naïve in so many ways. I knew what horehound candy was and that I didn't like but it wasn't until a year later and I was working in a little town outside of New York City—Dieter at least gave me a great deal of money when he told me to pack up and go-that I found out what the word meant. And I thought it was funny as to why I alone should be labeled that, as in my opinion, all women who sleep with a man so he'll support them are no different than I was. You see, Marjorie, all of us are whores—if you give yourself to your husband in exchange for his financial support then you're no different."

"No, Madeline, you're wrong. My relations with my husband are sanctioned by God."

"Oh, please, Marjorie! Sanctioned by God. Marriage is nothing but an agreement between two hypocrites."

"That's not true!" Marjorie didn't feel that way at all and she knew Adam didn't; he was the least hypocritical person she knew—he behaved as he believed even if she sometimes didn't agree. "You always were the boy-crazy one, Madeline—you were always that way."

"Marjorie…there was another reason we were sent away. Remember the last Christmas party before we left?" Marjorie nodded and Madeline continued. "Remember that major—the tall one who always looked so severe, the one whose wife had brassy hair she wore in those girlish curls and with the huge bosoms?"

"Oh yes! We made such fun of her."

"Well, after you went to sleep, I snuck back downstairs to see more of the party, more of Arthur Bradley, really—he was there in a tuxedo—and I was almost caught by mother so I slipped into the den. The major saw me hide and he came in with a sprig of mistletoe. He said that even though I was young, I was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen and he held the mistletoe over my head and tried to kiss me. Well, father came in and found us and I was so relieved—I told him about the major. But the major said I pulled him into the den and then begged him for a kiss. The major said he had tried to keep from hurting my 'tender feelings,' apologized and left.

"And then I had to face father. He told me I was going to be leaving for a boarding school as soon as possible, that he and mother had been discussing my loose ways around men and that I wasn't to tell anyone about what happened—that the major had a reputation to uphold—that the major had just had too much to drink. I said I would tell everyone that the major was a liar and father boxed my ear—I was shocked. It was the first time I had ever been struck. So that's why we were sent away to school. I left school—my prison sentence-you stayed, and I've found my way here—to this life. I have a patron; he's wealthy and gives me anything I ask for—anything. I see plays and operas and am introduced to important men—politicians, oil and railroad magnates—men who chuck my chin and pinch my cheek and squeeze me slyly. But their wives are dowdy and fat peahens with jowly cheeks and compared to them, I'm a swan."

"But aren't you ashamed about what you do? Wouldn't you rather be …respectable?"

Madeline stood straighter. "I'm not ashamed about what I do. I make my own way and things are so much better than they could be. But I know I won't be beautiful forever—I already see a few lines about my eyes. I won't be desirable much longer—maybe another 5 years and then…"

"I suppose…" Marjorie looked at her sister. Madeline was beautiful, the older of the two, born first, the most gifted in many way. And although it was subtle, Marjorie knew that Madeline was more beautiful than she, her eyes bluer, her complexion milkier. But she loved her sister and for once, Madeline needed her protection.

"Do you really want to stay here, Madeline? Do you want to stay with…Thaddeus? I've watched your face as you've talked; you can't fool me."

"I have no choice. I need to gather as much money and…things I can sell and then I can leave."

"Will he let you?"

Madeline looked away, stood up and looked at her reflection in the vanity mirror.

"No. He'll probably kill me before he lets me leave."

"Madeline, I can help you. I told you that you can come home with me. The Cartwrights would welcome you with open arms—and you can stay in our spare room. Adam would love to meet you. We'll pack your things tomorrow and take the next train back if you like. And we'll bring Pauline with us. In Nevada she can find a way to make a living—or marry-that is, if that's what she wants. Madeline, you can get away—with me."

"Wait, Marjorie. I…I'll consider going with you to Nevada but I won't stay with you and your husband."

"But why not? We have four bedrooms—three of them furnished but with no one in them. The house sometimes seems so lonely. With you there…oh, Madeline. It will be wonderful!" Marjorie smiled taking her sister's hands.

"And you trust him?"

"Who? Adam?"

"Yes, your husband. Do you trust him with me around?"

"What do you mean?"

"Men can't be trusted, Marjorie."

"Adam can. I trust him. And, Madeline, you wouldn't flirt with him, would you? You wouldn't do that to me?" Marjorie felt a chill run through her.

"No, I wouldn't, but can you trust him not to make advances toward me, to come to my room at night?"

Marjorie was dumbfounded. "Of course I trust him. What kind of wife would I be if I didn't? He would never, ever betray me." But now that the issue had been raised, Marjorie wasn't so sure; he had made that remark about having two of her and maybe…but she shrugged it off. She knew Adam better than that. "I trust him. Now let's make plans."

Madeline laughed—she felt a weight drop from her; she was going to be leaving, to start another chapter of her life and her sister was here, as beautiful as she always was. "All right, 'See-saw Marjorie-Daw'."

Marjorie laughed. "Oh, you used to tease me mercilessly with that nickname!"

"Well, eventually you got me back. You'd add, 'Maddie shall have a new master. All she'll get is a penny a day!' "

And they both laughed and hugged one another again. "Oh, I've missed my sister," Madeline said.

"And I've missed you too but now we're together again."


	6. Chapter 6

"I have to take care of some matters," Madeline said to Marjorie. They had talked long into the night but Madeline, instead of feeling weary felt invigorated. "I should be gone about two hours at the most—at least I hope things only take that long." She stood in front of a gilt mirror in the sitting room and pinned on her hat. She wore a grey suit of summer-weight wool. The ends of the hatpins were pearls—white and glossy, and the hatpins themselves were of rose gold. They were so elegant she could have worn them as jewels, pushed in and out through the neckline of her dress like stick pins.

Marjorie sat in the dining alcove sipping coffee and eating buttered scones while Pauline fussed about her missus, holding her gloves and small purse.

"Are you certain you don't want me to go with you?" Marjorie asked. "I thought you took care of most of what you needed yesterday?"

Madeline stepped into the alcove. "Oh, I did but this is just making certain that I have everything in order with the bank, that's all. Tell you what?" Madeline sat down sideways in one of the dining chairs. "While Pauline packs her things and the rest of mine, why don't you go try on my gowns and take whatever you want. I don't plan on taking all of them with me. After all, what does a dirt farmer's wife—which is probably what I'll become now- need with a silk gown?" Madeline laughed, hoping she sounded as if she had no worries.

"Oh, Madeline, you're not going to marry some farmer. Maybe a rich rancher. Oh," Marjorie said, he voice dropping, "wouldn't it be funny if you married one of the brothers—or Ben, Adam's father?" They both laughed.

"Is he handsome? The father, that is."

"Very much so. Broad shoulders, silver hair, deep voice…"

"Hmmm. And he's wealthy…I could be both your sister AND you mother! How would you like that?"

They laughed delightedly again and Madeline rose and pulled on the gloves she had been holding in one palm. "I hope you choose what you want in my wardrobe. I mean it—please, try on my gowns—any of them are yours. Now I have to go." She bent down and kissed her sister on the cheek and then presented her own cheek and Marjorie kissed her in return.

"Hurry home!" Marjorie said reaching for another scone.

Madeline, paused once before she left the hotel; she grasped the small leather bag that was waiting by the door; Pauline had filled it for her. Madeline walked briskly down the carpeted stairs, through the elegant lobby and past the desk clerk. He watched Madeline pass, admiring her and he thought again of his confusion when a woman who looked exactly like her showed up and gave the name of Mrs. Adam Cartwright, asking for the keys to her room. Later, when Marjorie related the desk clerk's confusion, the sisters laughed; he had stared open-mouthed and stammered.

"But Mrs. Mason…I wasn't aware you were adopting another name or moving to a lesser room. I…."

"I'm not Mrs. Mason. My name is Mrs. Adam Cartwright and I should have a room reserved—and paid for."

Marjorie laughed again when she told Madeline how the clerk had said that she had a double, an absolute twin who lived at the hotel. It was uncanny. But Marjorie feigned innocence, her childhood mischievous streak coming through as it did when they had been young and enjoyed switching places, pulling a joke on their teachers and family friends.

Madeline stood on the street and looked about; it was teeming with activity. Madeline approached one of the waiting cabs.

"Yes, ma'am. May I be of service?" The driver doffed his hat and stood waiting.

"Yes. Thank you."

The man opened the cab door and handed her in. "And your destination?"

"Take me to the docks."

"Ma'am?" The cab driver was surprised. This fare was not only beautiful but well-dressed and elegant. He often parked near the hotel to wait for fares and he had seen the woman in the past, often on the arm of a man who was well-known, Thaddeus Markham , who often had his picture in the papers and owned his own buggy that always looked brand new, the brass shined to a fault and the drop-down hood not showing any fading. And the horse—why they themselves must have run close to a $1,000. What business the lady would have on the docks, he couldn't fathom, but then he decided a fare is a fare and why they go where they do was none of his business. But still..

"Just head that way. I'll let you know where to stop."

"Yes, ma'am. As you say." He tipped his hat again, closed the door and climbed up to his seat, snapped the horse's reins and they were off to the docks. He considered that soon, if the report in the paper was accurate and not just some figment of a writer's mind, he would be driving a mechanized buggy. He didn't know if he would prefer it but the world was changing and changing quicker than he could fathom. But then his mind went back to the beautiful woman in his cab and he wondered what it would be like to trade places with Mr. Thaddeus Markham and to sit beside her inside her and touch her and feel the warmth of her body. And he sighed. At home waiting for him was his wife and five children—he needed not to touch his wife so much, he decided.

Madeline watched the passing scenery. The ride became rougher as the streets became irregular due to neglect, many of the cobblestones uneven and some even missing. She could smell the stink of fish and feel the dampness in the air. She pulled the cord inside the cab that indicated to the driver to stop.

The cab stopped and the driver jumped down. He opened the door.

"Are you sure this is where you want to stop?"

"Yes, thank you. Please wait here; I shouldn't be too long and I'll pay you for your time."

"Yes, ma'am, I'll wait." He handed her down and Madeline, clasping the leather bag, smiled and picking up one side of her skirt, stepped on the sidewalk. He watched her walk away. What business such a woman would have in an area like this, befuddled him. At least it wasn't night when the streets echoed the sound of jangling music and the raucous laughter of drunks and whores. And one never knew what activity took place in the narrow alleys—both copulation against the damp walls and theft, many a drunk being rolled and robbed or even killed if he was able to put up a fight.

Madeline walked into a storefront, the bell jangling above her head to indicate a customer. She glanced around. The glass counter was grimy and the windows, fly-specked. The light was dim but Madeline could see the articles for sale, items that desperate people had sold and had long ago given up any thought of buying back. Pawn shops told of sadness and the whole place made Madeline miserable as she herself had needed in the past to sell a few items.

A short balding man pushed aside a curtain to the back room and came out. Madeline stared evenly and noticed that he was initially suspicious of her and then surprised. Madeline smiled sardonically; he reminded her of vermin, always keeping close to the walls and slinking about in the dark, avoiding bright lights lest his beady eyes be noticed by their reflection.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Maddie. Long time no see and haven't you cleaned up a bit? You look like an actual lady. Heard that you're being kept by Thaddeus Markham. You know, Maddie, the higher someone rises, the farther they have to fall."

Madeline was determined not to let him upset her. "I have some items to sell. Jewelry." Madeline placed the leather bag on the counter.

"What, no greeting for old Pete? Not even a kiss for all the times I bailed you out in the past."

Madeline ignored him and pulled out a few pieces of jewelry—an emerald bracelet, a sapphire and diamond ring, a ruby ring and a diamond necklace. Pete let out a sigh of appreciation.

"These…" He pulled a jeweler's loupe out of his vest pocket and grabbing up the emerald bracelet, walked closer to the window for the light and examined the bracelet. Then he examined the other three pieces and finally laid them on the countertop. "Well, these are genuine but I don't think I can give you what they're worth—maybe not more than a 10th of what they're worth."

"Well, thank you," she said and reached out for the pieces but Pete stopped her hand by grabbing her wrist. "Take your hands off me." He pulled his hand away.

"Now just a minute, girl…"

Madeline was going to tell him that if he called her "girl" again, she'd have his throat cut in his sleep. But she was leaving Baltimore and Markham and would no longer have his thugs to carry out any whim for revenge. Many a man who had slighted her in any manner, imagined or not, had ended up with broken arms or smashed noses or even a gaping throat. "I'm in a hurry," she said, "and I don't have time to waste. I'll just go elsewhere."

Pete glowered; he knew how much the jewelry was worth. "All right. How much do you want?"

Madeline suppressed a smile and when she told Pete her price, his mouth opened in shock. "I can't give you that much-I don't even have that much in the place!"

"That's my price take it or leave it. The pieces are worth twice that amount."

"But that's only if I can find someone to pay me that amount."

Madeline reached for the pieces again.

"Okay, okay," Pete said. "Just wait here." He opened the curtain again and disappeared into the back.

Madeline looked about her nervously. Then she reached into the bag; Pauline had slipped her derringer in as Madeline had requested and she held the derringer inside the bag. She had only shot one other person in her life but she was ready to shoot another should she need to. Even kill someone. But Pete came back with a strongbox and placed it on the counter. With a look of disgust on his face, he unlocked the box and pulled out a thick handful of bills. Slowly he counted out the $15,000 and placed the stack of bills on the counter.

"There. There's your money."

"Thank you," Madeline said. She released the derringer and pulled out her hand for the bills. She placed them in the bag and turned to leave.

"Markham educated you in more ways than one," Pete said.

Madeline stood stiffly for a split second. Then, without looking back, she walked out of the shop, her heart pounding. She looked about her as she briskly walked. It would be like Pete to send someone to rob her of the money and then he'd have both the jewels and the money. Then she saw the cab—he was still waiting. She felt herself relax and the driver smiled at her as she approached. Madeline purposely relaxed her face, softened her tense shoulders and smiled back putting out her hand to be helped up. Before the driver closed the door, Madeline asked him to take her to the First State Bank of Baltimore. He tipped his hat and she sank back into the privacy of the interior and let out a sigh of relief.

Inside the shop, Pete looked over the jewels again, marveling at their beauty, their quality and the gold fretwork that held the jewels in place and formed the links. He knew Markham must have paid dearly for these. Why Markham, he was sure, had never even bought his wife such beauties although God knew she could use something to distract from her dour face and thick waist. On Madeline, the jewels were just gilding a lily. But a man had to pay dearly for a mistress such as Mrs. Mason—especially a man such as Markham—he could be a cruel brute. Then Pete began to rethink the transaction. What if, when he tried to sell them, someone recognized the jewels? Markham might be angry about his mistress selling them and take out his displeasure on him—actually, have his hired thugs take out his displeasure for him on Pete's weary body, or worse, his corpse. Would some oysterman dredge up his body along with the oysters tomorrow?

Pete considered he could remove the jewels and sell the gold and gems separately—but word would get out; Markham had eyes and ears everywhere.

"Wally? Get you miserable ass out here!"

A young man came from the back. He had a slight limp, a listing to one side, one leg being shorter than the other. He held a mop in one hand.

"What? I ain't finished mopping the back."

"Drop the mop. Go run to the smoke shop on 17th—tell the clerk that you got a message for Mr. Markham, that his…woman is selling her jewels. Tell him I have them and that he can come and see me and I'll… just tell him I got them. Think you can remember that?"

Wally repeated the message and then left for the better part of town, mumbling to himself about being nothing more than a lackey. But then, he decided, a lackey was better than a weather-beaten, stinking oysterman. And he hurried faster to the smoke shop.

~ 0 ~

Madeline had withdrawn her money from the bank, closed out both her secret account and the one in which Markham deposited her "allowance." She was surprised at how much she had "pilfered" from Markham over the years, the amount of the bank notes she had slipped from his wallet—none so big as to be noticed and if he had ever suspected that Madeline went through his pockets as he slept, he never said anything. But then Madeline wondered if that was the reason he occasionally took his belt to her. She had always assumed that he was just a cruel bastard and took his frustrations out on her because she was vulnerable but maybe her thefts were the reason. But it didn't matter now. She would soon be free of him.

Now she had more money stashed away in the leather bag than she had ever seen, over $40,000 and she still had jewels left after selling the ones she had. In her jewel box, she still had gold bracelets with lapis and Oriental turquoise. In the hotel safe, Madeline had stored an opal ring surrounded by Ceylon sapphires and strings of pearls. There were also more diamond and gem bracelets and brooches practically exploding with gems. She decided she would sell all those in Nevada. And then Madeline had a moment of doubt; maybe she should have waited until she reached Nevada to sell all her gems. But she wanted to make certain she had more than enough money, more than she could possibly need. But her heart still thumped so she eschewed a cab, having paid off the previous one when she was at the entrance of the bank. She needed to walk and think. She passed a small tea room that she often frequented and went inside and was led to a small table. The woman smiled at her and asked her if she wanted her regular choice—Earl Gray tea and butter cookies.

Madeline smiled. She was beginning to feel normal again, her fear receding. In another two hours according to the watch pinned to her suit bodice, she would be on a train with her sister and Pauline and headed for the west, for a new life where she would have so much money she wouldn't need any man. Let Marjorie be happily married or believe she was; the idyllic fiction of her life would soon become apparent to her sister, of that Madeline was sure. Men and women didn't live together amicably, especially where a man's sexual desire was concerned. Madeline believed that but then, maybe in the case of her sister, her own beliefs were wrong.

While they had talked in bed, she and her sister, exchanged intimacies as they had done while still girls and talked about boys, Marjorie had practically glowed when she talked about how wonderful her husband was, how handsome, how intelligent and how kind. And how he made her shiver with delight.

"Then why do you even bother with all these other….causes of yours? I should think you'd live just for him, that is, if he's as wonderful as you say."

"Oh, Madeline, don't be such a cynic. We have a responsibility in life to help others. We were taught to have a social conscience by our parents and at school. If you'd stayed in school instead of…" Marjorie stopped herself.

"I told you why I left. Are you going to tell the Cartwrights I've been a mistress, a cheap paramour? Are you going to let them know all about me? I doubt they'd let me stay with them if you did."

"Oh, Madeline, don't talk like that. I told you, Adam and his family will help you and they will ask for nothing in return. And it's not just because you're my sister—they help anyone who needs it. And I won't say a word…about your past."

"Not even to your husband?"

"If you don't want me too."

Madeline laughed. "And you're telling me your husband's family will let me stay and ask for nothing in return? Four men would help a woman and not expect to be repaid with my falling on my back?"

"I told you—they're not like that."

"Of course, they aren't."

That conversation had stayed with Madeline and as she sat drinking the milky, sweet cup of tea and nibbling at the thin butter wafers, she recounted the conversation. She hoped Marjorie was right although she would do whatever she needed to find security, to escape Markham. She soon finished and taking up her bag, paid her tab, leaving the money due and a gratuity on the table. She smiled at the proprietor on her way out and they woman told her to please return soon. Madeline knew she wouldn't but just smiled.

She walked down the street; it was a lovely day, the air not too warm for walking but as she came closer to the hotel, she began to walk faster. Suddenly she wanted to see her sister again and hoped that she and Pauline would be packed and ready; they had three quarters of an hour to make it to the depot for their train. She almost broke into a run. The doorman opened one of the double doors for her and with her bag of money grasped firmly, she rushed through the lobby and up the stairs.

Madeline stopped in front of her suite. The door was slightly ajar. She held her breath. _No_ , she thought. _Please God, let them be all right. Please._ She walked inside and then stopped. Pauline lay on the floor by the fireplace, her hand loosely holding a poker, her eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. Madeline ran into the bedroom and it was as she feared. Marjorie, wearing the green watered silk dress with the seed pearls was lying across the bed on a pile of various evening gowns. Her hair was still loosely braided from the night before. Her lips were blue and her white throat, bruised; she had been throttled.


	7. Chapter 7

Light was creeping in from the east but it hadn't yet woken Adam. It wouldn't be until the light began to shine through his closed lids that he would begin to toss a bit and then awaken. And when he did, he would first lie for a few seconds and then look to the other side of the bed but he would see no one, just the mussed sheets pushed aside and a small indentation where his wife's head had been. And as he stretched, he would feel desirous of her warm body but, he would consider, she more than likely would have gently told him no, not that it would deter him—he would still attempt to cajole her, that is if she were there. But he would judge by the sun that it must be past 10—close to 11—and that the deference his family had shown him by letting him sleep-in was soon to expire. There were things to do and one of the first, after breakfast, would be taking Marjorie back home and them seeing the Hardestys and letting them know of Marjorie's return.

Madeline had wakened with the first light, not having slept well, and as discreetly as she could, turned to look at Adam, at the large man who had slept beside her, their bodies occasionally touching in the darkness—she would recoil and move closer to the edge of her side of the bed. She hadn't seen him well the night before but even with his day's growth of beard, he was handsome. Her sister hadn't quite done him justice and she wondered if everything else her sister had told her about his being a good lover was also understatement. But she chose never to know—it didn't fit into the plans she had contrived on the train ride to Nevada.

As she had ridden in the train, guilt over her sister's murder and that of Pauline's ate at her as she safely traveled the many miles, but the train with its regular clack and the hypnotizing scenery soothed her. Nevertheless, whenever she would close her eyes, she would see them both again. Had Marjorie tried to convince the killers that she wasn't Mrs. Marsh, wasn't Madeline, but Marjorie, her twin sister? Didn't they know, she would have asked, that Madeline had a twin? Did she say she was only trying on dresses and the jewels because Madeline had said she could take whatever dresses she liked?

Madeline almost moaned audibly with the memory of Marjorie lying so pale and still and then brave Pauline—so young, who had tried to defend herself, perhaps even attempting to defend Marjorie with a fireplace poker. And although Madeline's attitude wasn't, it was better it was they who had died instead of her, she was grateful when she realized that she had managed to escape the deadly visit. But then she considered that if she had come home sooner, if it hadn't taken so long at the bank, if she hadn't sold the jewels to Pete but someone more legitimate, perhaps then Marjorie and Pauline would still be alive. Or perhaps all three of them would be dead. Madeline's mind wouldn't stop questioning, her thoughts wouldn't end their perpetual circle.

Even on the train she didn't feel safe, even as it put more distance between her and Baltimore. Every depot at which they stopped was a chance for Markham or one of his hirelings to board and find her. When the train would pull into a whistle-stop, she became most nervous. Would some of Markham's men, possibly already on board the train, stroll down the aisles looking for her? Had they realized they had killed the wrong woman? And if they found her, what would they do? Pull her to the back of the car and throw her off the viewing platform? Strangle her and throw her beneath the wheels? It shook her to her core; never before had she felt so vulnerable.

When she had bought the ticket in Baltimore, all the compartments on the train had already been reserved so all Madeline could secure was a seat in coach. She sat by a window and kept her leather bag containing all her money and the pearl-handled derringer clutched in her lap. Her suitcase, actually Marjorie's valise that was packed with her clothes, was in the luggage hammock above her.

An older man who Madeline assumed was a drummer by his sample case, sat beside her and tried to strike up a conversation. Madeline had politely tried to forestall any personal questions such as who she was. Was she traveling alone? What was her destination? But she finally had to be intentionally rude to stop his interest although she noticed that he would glance at her curiously upon occasion as if he was apprising her or trying to decipher her coldness. But he didn't bother her again and when Madeline had to change trains in St Louis, she managed to secure a compartment that she had to share with an older couple and a young, polite and exceptionally thin man. But they, more or less, let her be when she told them she had attended a funeral in Baltimore—her sister's. It seemed that the presence of grief made them resist trying to engage her in any more light conversation so after proffering their condolences, the married couple chatted with the other man and bickered among themselves. Then Madeline wished she had taken a seat in coach; it was less intimate but she felt safer and now kept her bag next to her, between her and the wall.

As the miles flew by and she traveled further and further from Baltimore, Madeline had time to justify to herself what she had done in a panic-sent a wire to A. Cartwright, Virginia City, Nevada, to inform him that she was arriving and when. Madeline had not given any name hoping Adam would assume she was Marjorie—and he had.

Damn Pete to hell, she thought. He must have let Markham know that she sold some of her jewelry and Markham must have realized she was leaving—deserting him. That alone would be enough for him to have her beaten, her face destroyed, but she knew so much. She would be the perfect witness against him—Markham would want her taken out. Would anyone eventually find out that it wasn't she, that the wrong person had been killed? Madeline couldn't get the thought out of her mind. She needed a refuge, a safe place where she could ploy and plan and where she didn't have to fear that she would be spotted on a city street and dragged into an alley only to be found by some drunk who wanted to piss against the wall but instead, wet his pants at the sight of a woman with her throat cut and her tongue removed as a lesson to all stoolies.

But now Madeline considered that perhaps she should have, instead of running, gone to the police and told them what she knew as Markham's long-time mistress, what she knew about the respected Thaddeus Markham. She would have revealed that he was involved in opium smuggling as well as Chinese antiquities. And he was also involved in prostitution and practically owned all the cheap bars and saloons on the waterfront or had part ownership but all under another name—Ted Marks. And just how long would she have lived to testify against him, she asked herself? And even if she had, it would not be easy to prove that he had anything to do with her sister's and Pauline's deaths. Had anyone noticed the well-dressed men, for Markham's men always dressed impeccably, strolling through the large lobby which was often as busy as a train station and taking the stairs? They would just be people among a group of people causing no particular notice.

There would be no case against Markham. Even if one of the men was found and prosecuted, he would never give up Markham, may not even know the orders had come from Markham. It would have been for naught and one day, one night, she herself would be found dead unless her body had been tossed into the bay and been devoured by the bottom feeders. In that manner, in the acknowledgement that she was helpless, Madeline justified the taking of Marjorie's identity and seeking the safety of a family of men and the anonymity of a ranch house out in the wilderness of untamed Nevada. The only problem was how she could pass herself off as her twin with the Cartwrights, especially Adam, before she could find a way to leave him and head for California. And she wished Marjorie had talked more about her activities and her singular relationship with each man. And as far as Adam, well, she would be distant and then pick up her cues by what he said, how he behaved. And she hoped that since she and Marjorie wouldn't be side by side, Adam wouldn't notice any of the subtleties that had made them different. Adam Cartwright was Marjorie's husband but if he was like other men, he was sadly unaware of any differences in his wife's appearance from one day to the next.

~ 0 ~

"Well," Ben said as Adam came slowly down the stairs in his robe, yawning. "It's about time you woke. Half the day's gone." He noticed that Adam was barefoot as well but then his slippers would be at his house.

Adam scratched his face where his beard itched. One day he'd let it grow, he had decided, but it would be trying to get through this stage. "I need coffee." He walked over the sideboard where a cup and saucer were waiting as well as a carafe of coffee left over from breakfast, He poured himself a cup. It wasn't as hot as he liked but then breakfast had been 4 hours earlier. He sat down on the settee and propped his feet on the coffee table.

"Hoss told me things went well in Pasadena," Ben said.

"Oh, Hoss is up?"

"He's been up and already taken off to check the herds. Spring round-up. You do plan on helping out? We need to finish moving all the herds into the common pasture. That north range with all its gullies is giving our men a bellyache. And there's still melting snow up there and it's becoming a quagmire—hard to slog through."

Adam swallowed the coffee as well as his annoyance. He knew what he was to do and to have his father remind him just bothered him. So he changed the subject from herding cattle to Marjorie—he noticed she wasn't there.

"She woke up early, barely ate much to Hop Sing's dismay—you know how he likes it when Margie fusses over his dishes—and then asked Hoss to take her back to the house. So he did. Left our buggy there."

"Wait a minute. Marjorie went back to the house without me?"

"You know how women are; they want to get back to their own house and tidy up after they've been away. I told her that Mr. and Mrs. Hardesty hadn't yet been notified that she was back but she said that was fine. Anyway, she had her valise by the front door and was ready to go. You two didn't have an argument last night when you came home, did you?"

"No. Hoss and I got here until about 3 in the morning—Margie and I didn't even talk long enough to have an argument. Now if she had been here this morning, it's possible—but no, we didn't last night. Did she indicate we had?"

"Not, not actually—she just seemed upset. But, last night I talked to her about her trip and why she came back so quickly. She was also…" Ben remembered that he told Marjorie he wouldn't reveal that she had been drinking but he felt he should. Nevertheless, he held back that information.

"Also what?"

"I thought she looked sad so I asked her about it. It seems her sister is happily married and has three children—three boys. Marjorie said she was envious, wished she had children, five or six at least."

"She did?"

"Yes. Why?"

"It just doesn't sound like her. I mean…it surprises me, that's all." Adam chuckled but it was more like a scoff. "It doesn't sound like her at all."

"Women change. People change so who's to say that spending time with her sister and her family, seeing what she is missing, didn't make her want the same things. When women hold a baby, well, when they hand the child back, it makes their arms feel empty as well as their hearts. Inger told me that after she helped a woman on the wagon train give birth. It was before we knew Hoss was on the way. Sisters can also be competitive—perhaps twins are even more so because they can see themselves in their twin, could just step into the envied life. I think Marjorie's overwhelmingly sad about it, about not having any children. I thought you should know."

Adam sighed and rose to pour himself more coffee. "Yes," he said to his father. "Thank you. I think I'll dress and head for home. I want to see Marjorie before I go into town. I know she'll want the Hardestys back—the Women's Church Guild meets tomorrow afternoon and you know How Margie wants to be at every single one and she's missed quite a few being gone, so Mrs. Hardesty will have a bit to do. And I thought, I mean while I was in Pasadena, I noticed that wives have a personal maid, you know, someone other than a clumsy husband, to hook them up and help them dress in other ways. I thought I'd tell Marjorie to hire one to live-in."

"I should think you'd want to get back and start on those grandchildren for me before you consider taking in another female. Maybe you'll soon want someone other than Mrs. Hardesty to help with the baby. There's no mother or mother-in-law to help." Ben stood up watching Adam stand in front of the sideboard while drinking his coffee. Ben had to head out to round-up as well. Adam seemed lost in thought.

"Well," Ben said, standing up. His knees were stiff; he had sat far too long. "I'm heading for the round-up. Will you be joining us today? Adam?"

"What?"

"Are you helping with the round-up today?"

"Yes, of course. I want to see Margie first and then I'll join you."


	8. Chapter 8

The house was quiet. Adam called out, "Margie? Are you upstairs?" He pulled off his hat and tossed it on a chair despite the fact that it upset Marjorie. He started up the stairs at the far side of the parlor and halfway up, Marjorie steeped on the top landing. She looked upset and Adam waited; Marjorie usually chastised him for shouting at her as if she was someone to be summoned. But she said nothing. "I'm surprised you didn't wait for me," he added.

"You haven't yet shaved today," she commented and stepped back when he reached the top landing.

"No. I haven't" He looked at her closely; something was off, something was different but he couldn't quite decide what it was. He reached out and pulled her to him. She put out her hands, pressed them against his chest but he only forced her closer and kissed her. And he smelled whiskey on her mouth.

He released her. His wife raised her hand to her lips and covered them. There was something…. Then Adam realized that it was her face. She was pale as if she had never see the sun and her cheeks were a little rounder. He then noticed the bodice of her dress strained across her bosom and her hips seemed a bit rounder. She had obviously put on a few pounds. Then it struck Adam that maybe his wife was already with child? Maybe that accounted for her change in attitude towards now starting a family? Margie had always said they should wait a bit longer. But she had been drinking, something she never did—he was no fool but then neither was she. Margie would know he would be able to tell, especially after last night.

"You've been drinking, Marjorie."

"I told you about my cheek—how I bit it. I told you I've been gargling…"

"Don't lie to me." His voice was low and he noticed that Marjorie stepped back again. It was as if she was preparing to turn and run back to the bedroom and lock him out. He reached out and grabbed her wrist. "Is the bottle in our bedroom? Is it from the den or did you buy your own supply in Baltimore?" He pulled her along with him when she lagged. But there was nothing to indicate that she had even been in their bedroom.

Adam looked in the first room on the opposite side, still holding onto her, and saw her valise was still on the bed. He dropped her hand. On the bedside table was a heavy cut-glass tumbler. He entered the room, picked it up and smelled it. He opened the drawer and a bottle of Bourbon lying on its side rolled slightly back and forth inside the drawer. He picked up the bottle and held it as evidence.

"What's going on, Marjorie? You don't drink. You don't even like the glass I have after dinner or when I work on the books. Why all of a sudden is it your favorite pastime?"

She wrung her hands. Then she came up with another partial lie. "It calms me. When I was visiting my sister and her family, well, we would have champagne as an aperitif and then, you know, a digestif—brandy actually, afterwards. I found it helped with…." Madeline stopped talking.

"I assume you're going to quit the Temperance League then." Adam waited. He decided she looked like a trapped animal, her eyes almost wild. Something had happened to her while in Baltimore and he felt that her sister was to blame.

Madeline didn't answer him but instead said, "I have headache. I'd like to lay down. Would you mind leaving me alone?"

"Are you sleeping in here now? You no longer want to share my bed?" He watched as she stammered a few words about not feeling well, not having slept well the night before.

"Be quiet, Margie and listen. My father told me you want children. At least that's what you said to him. You sleeping in here, well, that's not how a woman behaves when she wants a child off her husband. Or are you already with child. Marjorie? Your figure's rounder, actually, a little more…desirable. You do look succulent. I've missed you these past few days, missed my wife in my bed." He approached her and pulled her to him. He kissed her deeply and the taste of bourbon was actually pleasant. But she struggled in his embrace and he finally released her. She stepped away from him.

"No, I'm not with child. I just…ate too much. My sister's wealthy. Her husband is a physician, a well-paid physician…" Madeline stopped herself; she remembered that she had told Ben Cartwright that her sister's husband was a businessman; she would have to be more careful but this man, this dark-haired man unsettled her. He was too clever, too adept at catching her up, catching anyone up, she was sure. She told herself she would have to be more careful—Adam Cartwright was cunning. "Well, the food was rich, delicious, better than anything I've ever tasted even from your father's Chinese cook, I'm certain, and there was always so much that…I noticed I put on a few pounds. I'll have to have some dresses let out…or cut down on my appetite."

Adam looked at her closely. To refer to Hop Sing as a "Chinese cook" and not by his name made Adam more suspicious.

"Since when do you call him the 'Chinese cook'?"

"I meant Hop Sing. Oh, Adam, my head is pounding!" She began to cry, held her head and although Adam wanted to continue, he knew he needed to stop.

"All right, all right." He gently pulled her to him and held the back of her head. She smelled differently, like roses instead of lemon verbena. Perhaps, he rationalized, she rinsed her hair with her sister's rosewater. He held her away from him and pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket. "Here, wipe your tears and I'll leave you to lie down. I have to go into town anyway to see Mr. and Mrs. Hardesty; they'll be glad to return tomorrow, I'm sure."

Madeline offered a teary smile and Adam kissed her on the forehead. "Now lie down—catch a nap." Madeline nodded. But before he left the room, Adam picked up the Bourbon. She said nothing but watched as he left the room holding the bottle by its neck. Adam paused at the doorway. "Don't drink anymore, Margie; you're a sloppy drunk." He closed the door behind him and Madeline could hear his retreating steps as he went downstairs.

She dropped onto the bed and pounded her forehead with her fists. "Stupid! Stupid!" Her mind raced. The idea to hide here had been foolish, Madeline decided. She should have just headed to San Francisco—hidden there, started a new life. Then she decided what she needed to do; she would start an argument so that she would have a reason to leave Adam, would have a reason to go to San Francisco. But then, she considered, he would probably come after her and drag her back to the Ponderosa. Adam Cartwright seemed like a man who had to have things on his own terms. A new idea came to her; maybe she could maneuver a way to have him throw her out? Another man—if she became involved with another man, he would toss her out. After all, his manly pride would be hurt. But with whom should she become involved? Maybe…she thought of Ben Cartwright. He was handsome and the wealthiest of the four but would he have an affair with his supposed daughter-in-law? She would have to gauge the father/son bond before she flirted with him, before she made him believe she was available—before she could have an affair with him.

 **~ 0 ~**

The Hardesty's were pleased that Mrs. Cartwright was home. Mrs. Hardesty confided to Adam that she, for one, would be happy to get out of their house. "If I keep bumping into my husband every time I turn around in this cracker box, well, I may just have to leave the man—or shoot him!" Adam laughed as he was often a witness to the altercations between the husband and wife but he had also seen the sweet kiss on the cheek that Mr. Hardesty gave his wife before he left to complete tasks for either Adam's household or for their own.

"Will your Missus want my cooking tonight or is she whipping up a little something for the two of you?" The plump woman stood waiting, her arms folded across her wide midsection.

Adam paused. "I didn't ask but…you know, she doesn't feel well—took to her bed. Why don't you go over today, whenever you can? Of course, if you have other things you need to do…"

"Nothing at all. Besides, we haven't milked the cow yet today or fed the chickens—we usually go over early to take care of things but Jess, he's been complaining like a small boy about the bursitis—whining and me having to rub liniment into it and him complaining that I don't do it right 'cept that I've been doing it for nigh on to 20 years now since he had his first flare. I tell him he's just getting' old but you know how you men can be? It's like takin' care of a 60 year old infant."

Adam chuckled and said goodbye to the housekeeper. The knowledge that the couple would soon be with Marjorie made him feel better. But he was determined to wire her sister, to find out what had happened to Marjorie when she had visited. Although Marjorie had never so blatantly lied to him before, she was obviously lying now. So Adam rode down the post office which also housed the telegraph office and tied his horse outside.

"Be back in a minute, boy," he patted his horse's neck, tipped his hat to two passing ladies who smiled, and then stepped into the Post Office. The post master was sliding letters into various slots. Residents stopped by to check their mail every few days and homesteaders and ranchers collected their mail and telegrams whenever they came to town.

"Afternoon, Adam," Brock said. "I just filed a wire for you. Here." He pulled it out of the slot and handed it to Adam.

Adam looked at it curiously. Then he looked up and Brock was back slipping the mail into their slots. "Anything else?"

"Not that I've come across yet. Joe picked up the mail two days ago but I think there's your copy of _The Sacramento Bee_ in the mail sack. Want to wait while I finish these?"

"No," Adam said. He saw the wire he held was from the lawyer in Carson City. He wanted to be alone when he read it. "I'll stop by later. I may want to send a wire anyway. Just put it in the box."

The Post Master acknowledged with a wave and Adam stepped outside. He was hungry so he walked over to a small restaurant a few doors down. It didn't serve the same fare as the restaurant in the hotel but it was filling and he could walk in as he was—unwashed and unshaven and no one would give it a second thought.

Adam placed his request for a plate of frijoles and tortillas and coffee and while he waited the few minutes it took, he stared at the envelope in his hand. It was bad news, he knew it. He slid the knife from the place setting under the flap and pulled out the yellow slip and read. He read it twice and then he put it back in its envelope, folded it in half and when his food arrived, he quickly ate, left the money and a gratuity on the table and left for Carson City. He needed to talk to Stratford.

On the two hour ride to Carson City, Adam considered what the lawyer hired to track down Marjorie's sister would reveal. All the wire had said was "New information re Mrs. Mason. Vital you know asap."

~ 0 ~

"What did you find out?" Adam had asked Stratford. It had been four months since he first contracted with the lawyer and he was angry that only now new information was discovered.

"Sit down, Mr. Cartwright," Stratford said. Once Adam did, he sat down himself. "As I said, there is new information—I wired you as soon as it arrived from my man. Now I can summarize for you or just give you the reports."

Adam sat and reached out for the folder Caleb Stratford, Esq. handed him. Adam opened it up and saw the newest two-page report and then more sheets below, one with a list of expenses. He closed the folder.

"I'll read the details later. Tell me what was found and then I'll pay you."

Mr. Stratford nodded. "Well, I hired a private detective—not a Pinkerton but someone I know who, due to his questionable past, knows how to find people who may be hiding; I'm never satisfied with just one investigator's results. I hope your wife hasn't yet travelled to Baltimore—it might be dangerous."

Adam sat up straighter; he was no longer relaxed. "She not only left but returned yesterday."

"Well, I 'm glad she's home safely." He paused in case his client had anything to add but Adam Cartwright just watched him and said nothing so he continued. "As you know, Miss Madeline Purl is now going by the name of Mrs. Marsh. But she's not married—never has been."

"Oh? How did he find that out and how do you know it's a fact?"

"He didn't share that with me and I think it's best neither you nor I know how he came across this information; he has his ways."

"I suppose there are no children then," Adam said.

"No—were there supposed to be?"

"No—it's just…I just wondered if there were." Adam was sure Stratford could see through his attempt to dissemble but then Stratford wasn't considered the best lawyer in the area for no reason; he knew. And Adam would now have to face Margie with what he could prove was a lie—and not some small lie employed to make life easier. This was a lie for some unknown purpose.

"Now this information would have been of more use had it come sooner but it clears up some things. Mrs. Marsh does live in a suite of rooms at the Barnum's City Hotel—an expensive hotel, grand actually. She's been there for a few years, she and her personal maid. Her bills, all her bills—dining, dressmaker, whatever she desires apparently, are paid by a man—not particularly a gentleman although he is extremely wealthy and is a member of the Maryland Club—very prestigious and by invitation only-so my assumption…."

"Is that he has some powerful men in his pocket," Adam finished the thought.

"Yes. He has contributed to many a politicians campaign and…even has his own men in the constabulary. HIs name of Thaddeus J. Markham. He seems to make his money in unsavory ways, gambling parlors, brothels, saloons, thefts of cargo, and making high interest loans and then calling them in quickly or appropriating the collateral. He is a dangerous man having many…'specialists" working for him. All the details are in the report. That's why I said it may be dangerous if your wife travels to Baltimore alone. But since she's safely home, I'm glad my fears went unrealized."

Adam stood, placing the folder under his arm. He shook Stratford's' hand and said he would go to the bank and write a draft for the amount due. He smiled and talked as if all was normal but his gut was in turmoil; he knew something was wrong and he also believed he knew why Marjorie was behaving so oddly. She had seen something that upset her so that she had felt the need to drink, the need to lie to him—and even to his father. He wanted to hurry home to her. He would wash, shave and hopefully convince her to warm up to him; maybe then she would feel safe enough to talk. Besides, he had been without her for a long while and he yearned for her touch and her warmth but he also hoped to persuade her to tell him about what had transpired during her short visit with her sister.

A half hour passed and then Adam Cartwright returned to Stratford's office with a bank draft. Stratford's law clerk wrote out a receipt and Stratford and Adam shook hands again, Adam saying he would use Stratford's services again if needed. Adam had already left for home two hours earlier when a clerk from the post office came to Stratford's office with a letter. Stratford tipped the man and when alone, he opened the envelope. He quickly read the contents and then reread it. "Damn it!" he swore and tossed the letter onto his desk. He clasped his hands in front of him to think. He would need to forward the letter to Cartwright. No, he would go see the man himself tomorrow. Mrs. Cartwright was home safely so the news could wait a few hours and this news, Stratford decided, should be broken in person. He would leave in the morning and before the noon-day meal, Adam Cartwright and his wife would know that her sister, Mrs. Madeline Marsh and her maid, had both been found murdered in her hotel room. Stratford shook his head. But then what could be expected? If you lie down with dogs, you wake up with fleas. The woman had been a mistress—a kept woman and now she was dead. And he thought back to Mrs. Cartwright and felt a warmth run through his veins. She was beautiful and if her twin sister was as beautiful as she, well, what a waste—what a horrible waste of youth and beauty, of a life.

Stratford put the letter aside and went back to the brief he was writing on behalf of another client, a client accused of bank fraud but he couldn't concentrate. It was late afternoon and the sun was at an angle and shone through the slats of the shutters, particles swirling in the light like fairy dust. He looked at the paper and the words made no sense to him. He rose from his desk. Usually he worked until 7:00 or later but today, he would leave early. He would treat himself to a dinner out and maybe he would take in that new play that had come to town a week ago; it was reputed to be delightful. Yes, that's what he would do. And he would rise early and ride over to Adam Cartwright's. He'd like to see Mrs. Cartwright again anyway; if he only could meet a woman like her, he thought, he'd give up his bachelor ways.


	9. Chapter 9

T _HE REST OF THIS STORY IS LOST. I POSTED ALL I HAD LEFT. ELECTRICITY BLIP AND NOW GONE-NO PREVIOUS VERSIONS EXIST. ANYWAY, I WILL JUST HAVE TO SUCK IT UP AND WRITE THE ENDING AGAIN, ABOUT 25,000 WORDS. IT WILL TAKE A WHILE-A FEW DAYS SO PLEASE CHECK BACK IN IF YOU HAVE THE INTEREST TO WAIT. I AM SO SORRY-YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW SORRY I FEEL FOR MYSELF. SO GIVE ME TIME TO HAVE A SMALL PITY PART, TO VENT AGAINST THE UTILITY COMPNAY FOR IT'S OCCASIONAL BLIPS IN SERVICE AND I WILL FINISH THIS. (I DON'T SUPPOSE "AND THEY LIVED HPPILY EVER FTER WILL SUFFICE.")_

Mr. Hardesty was laying fresh straw in the stalls when Adam walked his horse into the small barn. They only had four horses and two cows so there was no need for a huge barn, just a place to keep the cows safe from bears and other predators.

"Good evening to you," Mr. Hardesty said, letting up his work and smiling. He put out his hand and Adam shook it.

"Good to see you here," Adam said. "Would you mind looking to my horse? I rode him hard today—I went to Carson City and back."

"Of course, I will. My bursitis is acting up today but I'll have the missus rub more liniment on it tonight. That's why I keep her around, well that and to keep my feet warm at night." The two men chuckled over the comment and Adam pulled the saddlebags from his horse while Hardesty held the reins.

"How's Mrs. Cartwright? She was ill when I left?" Adam waited.

"I haven't seen her myself. I went straight to milking the cows and feeding the chickens and stock."

Adam thanked him and went to the house. Even in the fading light of day he admired the stonework across the front. He had spent hours finding and then loading river rocks of the right size to haul back to the house. A few times Hoss and Joe had helped him. He had hired a stonemason from Sacramento to set the rocks for the fireplaces and across the front of the house; the rest was Ponderosa pine, hewed and stacked just like the family homestead. It seemed an odd choice for a trained architect to fall back on the style of the standard ranch house when there were so many others available to him but the older he became, the more he longed for simplicity. With that in mind, he had laid the flatter stones into the ground forming a short walkway; a buggy could be pulled to the end and during the rainy season, it would keep the mud off any dragging hems of a woman's skirts and save the soft, lambskin boots from stains.

Marjorie liked flowers but she had no preference, so Adam had brought home primroses and marigolds and planted them along the walkway and a morning glory would its way about the porch rails. He hung baskets of geraniums from the porch roof to ward off insects so that they could sit on the porch on warm evenings and talk or he could just play his guitar while Marjorie listened and perhaps knitted. That had been Adam's vision but the reality was far different. Life was full of other matters and Marjorie with all her nervous energy wasn't content to sit and listen while he tried new chords and new compositions. She said that it only irritated her to hear him plunk at the strings and fool with the chords until he finally found the note he wanted. So he often sat alone evenings while he sounded out different melodies. But he found he didn't mind. Her constant fidgeting annoyed him anyway.

He opened the door and the savory scents of dinner hit him; Mrs. Hardesty was back in fine form and the air was redolent with fried chicken. He dropped his saddlebags on a side chair by the door and walked into the kitchen.

"So you're finally home," Mrs. Hardesty said, almost scolding him. "I have the food in the oven to keep it warm."

"Where's Mrs. Cartwright?" Adam listened for her light footfalls on the stairs or in the parlor. There was no sound of welcome from Marjorie, not even a reprimand about being gone for the whole day and causing her to worry.

"She was complaining of a headache and some…distress known only to women." Mrs. Hardesty raised her eyes knowingly.

Adam suspected that Marjorie, for some reason, was lying. Perhaps it was to keep him at arm's length. He was unsure but since her behavior had been so odd—he said nothing more.

"Well, I fixed her some broth which she barely ate, and fried up the rest of the chicken. I hope you're in the mood for fried chicken."

"Yes—smells wonderful. Let me just wash up and—Mrs. Hardesty."

She had begun to pull the plates of food from the oven with the aid of towels but stopped. "Yes, Mr. Cartwright?"

"Why don't you and Mr. Hardesty stay for dinner? It's late and I'm sure you're both hungry."

"Oh, thanks, that's kind of you but we're just the help and…"

"Nonsense, but if it makes you more comfortable, why don't the three of us eat out here in the kitchen? I don't relish eating alone with Mrs. Cartwright indisposed."

"All right—it does smell mighty good, don't it? My mouth's been waterin'. I'll set us up three places and go tell my mister to wash up and mind his manners 'cause we'll be eating with the boss. Now let me place my pan of biscuits in—should be ready in about 15 minutes."

Adam smiled. "That'll give me enough time to go wash up and look in on Mrs. Cartwright."

Opening the saddlebag flap, Adam slid out the folder. He went upstairs to face Marjorie. He would get to the bottom of it, and the sooner the better

He cleaned up in his bedroom—their bedroom-washing the dust and sweat off himself—but there was still no sign that Marjorie had unpacked or even been in there. Adam looked at his reflection and considered shaving but knew that in a few minutes, Mrs. Hardesty would call him for dinner. He went across the hall and after a quick rap, tried to turn the knob—it turned without result; the door was locked.

He rapped louder. "Marjorie, open the door. I need to talk to you. I have news about your sister." He waited. He was about to knock again when he heard a key turning and the door was opened. Marjorie looked tired, her eyes red and swollen. She had been crying and Adam softened towards her. Now that he knew the truth about Madeline, her sister, he could understand why his wife was so changed, so upset.

"I don't feel well. Can't this wait?"

"No." Adam gently pushed the door open. Marjorie was in a cambric gown, one he had seen on her many times but her hair was tumbled about her shoulders; usually she kept her hair neatly confined. Her valise was open on the floor. On the top of the clothes was a gray wool suit he had never seen. The dress she had worn that morning was tossed over a chair—something else that Marjorie never did; the rigid training drummed into her at school was still strong in her, so strong that she hung up her clothes every night, brushed her shoes and made sure the top of her vanity was neat, all her hairpins in one place. If her clothes needed cleaning, Marjorie would take the pieces down to the hamper off the kitchen for Mrs. Hardesty to either hand wash or to take to the laundry in town. Adam decided that Marjorie must truly be ill to have abandoned her dedication to order.

"I have news about your sister that contradicts what you told me." Adam watched as she blanched and sat heavily on the bed. The sheets and coverlet had been pulled down but only on one side of the bed. But her pallor extended even to her lips-he was afraid she was going to faint. Adam quickly poured a glass of water and waited beside the bed while she slowly drank.

Madeline's heart thumped and he ears rang; she was sure that Adam knew who she was, that she was a fraud. And did he know that his wife, that Marjorie was dead? Madeline couldn't speak for fear. What was he going to do? Turn her over to the law? Bodily harm her?

When Adam was certain she wasn't going to faint, he rose and picked up the folder he had tossed on the bureau when he went for the water. He handed it to her. Madeline took it in one hand.

"What is this?"

"Information from Stratford."

"Who?"

"Stratford, the lawyer we hired to locate your sister Madeline."

"Oh…yes. I don't…I can't read it right now." She dropped the folder on the floor and curled up on the bed.

Before Adam had interrupted her, Madeline had been lying on the bed thinking about Marjorie and Pauline. Had they begged the men for their lives? Were they aware why they were being targeted? So she wept for them and also wept for herself. She knew she was selfish, that she had only thought of herself and her own safety. She had run away. And now she found herself in an impossible situation. What was worse was that the only means she could think of at the time to save herself was to cause more to pain to the man who had married her sister, who loved her sister but he had to be expendable; she was fighting for her own survival. Had someone in Baltimore realized that it wasn't she, Madeline Marsh, who had been murdered in that hotel room? If so, would they track her down? She had foolishly used the name Mrs. Cartwright as she traveled—now, in hindsight, she could see that had been a mistake. Coming to Nevada had been a mistake but all she could think of in her fear and panic was what she and Marjorie did as children—switch places, switch identities and dupe others. They had always impersonated each other and fooled instructors and friends and even their own parents on occasion. So the first thing that had occurred to Madeline when she was desperate was to pretend to be her upright, married sister.

But now as Adam stood before her, Madeline knew it had been a mistake; obviously the scheme had been discovered.

Adam bent down and picked up the folder adjusting the papers inside. "All right, Marjorie. I'm going to have dinner and then a bath. But we need to talk about this tonight. You sleep for a few hours but I'll be back up…" Adam looked at the mantel clock, "in two hours—before 10:00." He started to leave but turned back and opened the nightstand drawer. He glanced at her; she was watching him.

She sat up. "Do you actually think that if I was sneaking up a bottle of whiskey that I would hide it in the very same place?"

"Marjorie, I don't think I know what you'd do anymore. Things have changed and I believe I know why." He walked a few steps, and paused. "I'll be back up in a while."

~ 0 ~

This time, the bedroom door wasn't locked. Adam opened the door cautiously and saw the woman he believed was his wife sitting in a chair, a blanket wrapped about her, and looking out the window at the night sky. She turned and Adam again was amazed at how lovely she actually was, how desirable.

"I brought you up a mug of tea—you like cream in it so…." He handed her the thick china mug full of the steamy liquid. He tightened up the tie to the robe he wore after his bath.

"Thank you." She took it from him and then held it gingerly in her lap, resting it on the many folds of the blanket. Then she went back to looking into the darkness. The only light in the room was from the fireplace; she had obviously placed fresh logs on it as the flames were high.

"I prefer that you look at me but I'll settle for this. Why did you lie about your sister?"

Madeline had read the material in the folder and had sighed in relief. She had also bought herself time to come up with a believable lie.

"I was embarrassed. She's my sister and I love her…and I love you." Madeline was afraid she sounded insincere but if she did, either Adam hadn't picked up on it or considered the situation and found it not worth mentioning. "Well, I wanted to make her sound…respectable so I lied. I know it was wrong, that I should have just told you the truth…and your father. I lied first to him—told him that I was envious of my sister's life when in reality, it was the opposite. I abhorred her life—it was awful in the sense that…she was a kept woman. The suites were beautiful—luxurious. She had hot and cold running water for baths and washing and gas lights and heat and…it was wonderful. She invited me to stay with her while I visited but….because I wasn't sure about her being kept and if the man would return at any time, well, I stayed the night in my room. I asked…Madeline…" Saying her own name aloud sounded odd. "If she would come back with me, to give up that way of life, but she said no. She said that she was happy with her life, with having a man keep her and so, well, I left the next day."

Madeline waited but Adam said nothing. She turned to look at him. He just sat on the bed looking at her oddly.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure." He put out his arms. "Come to me, Marjorie. You've been gone a long time—almost three weeks and I've missed you. I think…maybe we need to touch, to lie down together. You seem almost a stranger."

"Well, I…" Madeline considered his proposal. He was a handsome man and her sister was dead—it wasn't as if she was committing adultery with the man. He wasn't even her sister's husband but a widower. She had often felt repulsion for Markham and yet she managed to behave as if his mere touch sent her into ecstasy; she had been well-paid to feign affection, to feign sexual bliss in Markham's arms. She could easily pretend with this man as well. She rose and placed her mug of tea on the bedside table and then dropped the blanket off her shoulders. She stood before him in the thin, cambric gown and she noticed him looking at her as she stood with the light from the fireplace behind her. She went down on her knees before him and began to untie the cord about his robe, watching his face as she did and she noticed he looked puzzled. Perhaps, she considered, Marjorie wasn't aggressive, wasn't forthright in her desire and didn't believe in taking a subservient position with her husband. Madeline didn't know what she should do next so she asked. "What do you want me to do? What do you want…tonight?"

Adam rose from the bed and after raising her up to her feet, Madeline found herself swept up into his arms, felt his lips move on her cheek, find her mouth and kiss her. Before she had time to think what to do next, they were both on the bed and Madeline felt the man's practiced hands moving over her, felt her gown raised above her waist and then she stopped thinking and only felt as pleasure coursed through her body. And Madeline realized afterwards that she hadn't even had to pretend to be thrilled and ecstatic; for once her response to a man was genuine.

~ 0 ~

"Marjorie," Adam said as he took his hat off the rack in the kitchen, "I won't be back until dinner. I need to get the books from the mining office, the daily poundage records and reconcile them." Adam had talked to his father many times about the smelting refinery they used; he felt they charged too much per ton but the problem to building their own for local use was that they smelled so awful—"worse than downwind from pigsties." Not only would the stench hang over the Ponderosa, but when the wind shifted, the smell would reach anyone nearby.

Madeline stood quietly by. Again Adam noticed that her clothes seemed tighter.

"I asked Joe to take you into town for your meeting. He should be here by 10:00, so you best be ready to go—you know how impatient he can be." Adam pulled his gun belt about his waist and buckled it, then tied the thigh strap. He smiled at his wife; last night had been a new experience for him, for them both as far as he knew. Never before had Marjorie been so compliant or so wanton. She had never run her mouth over him before, never touched him before the way she had that night or removed her gown completely. He had reveled in her flesh, the roundness of her thighs, the delightful touch of her hands on him, urging him to enjoy her repeatedly. He had fallen in love with his wife all over again—and loved her more deeply than he ever had; her passion had finally matched his and he considered that it had been a fortunate pairing after all—lately he had harbored doubts. And again, just that morning she gave herself to him. He had hated to see her rise from the bed because it meant she was going to wash and dress for the day precluding any more tussling among the sheets but he was still thrilled to see her, to see her move with no self-consciousness; she even seemed to enjoy his pleasure in seeing her rounded body with its new sensuality. He had watched while she touched herself just for him—for him to wish that her hands were his and when he rose from the bed to go to her, she had laughed and gently turned away, sweeping up her gown from the floor where it had lain after she had tossed it from the bed during the night. If whiskey relaxed her to this degree, allowed her to take more pleasure from being with him then he wouldn't question if she took a glass of wine along with him at dinner or even a glass of brandy afterwards. He might even encourage it.

"I think," she said, "that I would rather go into town and buy a few new dresses. I…well, I ate so well on the train and at my…" Madeline remembered that she had lied about the champagne and the digestif. "Well, it will take a while to lose the pounds I've obviously put on. Buying a few new dresses will have to suffice."

Adam pulled her to him, kissing her cheek. He felt again the fullness of her figure. "I'm going to ask you and don't be angry…are you with child?"

Madeline almost laughed in his face. If he only knew what precautions she took, what precautions she had taken for years to prevent a child, he would be shocked. "No, I'm not. You'll find out soon enough," she said, "when you have to do without me for a week."

Marjorie never talked of such things with him—just mentioned it when he reached for her at night, that it wasn't a good time. He was puzzled again but she kissed him and smiled and so he relaxed and decided not to question his good fortune.

Madeline walked him to the front door, holding onto his arm as if she regretted his going. He kissed her again at the open front door, the sound of horse's hooves interrupting them but when he turned to look, Adam was surprised to see Caleb Stratford ride up to the house.

"I'm glad I didn't miss you," Stratford said. "And I'm glad you're both at home. I have bad news."

~ 0 ~

"I am very sorry, Mrs. Cartwright. If you like, I can make arrangements for the body to be brought here, that is if you like."

"No," Madeline said flatly. Stratford half rose as he was ready to leave. Adam partially rose as well, ready to walk out with Stratford but Madeline's curt reply made them pause.

"Why not?" Adam asked. "She can be buried next to your parents. I think it's the right thing to do."

Madeline looked up at Adam. When Stratford had broken the news, Madeline had feigned weakness and Adam reached over and chafed her wrists while Stratford, under Adam's direction, retrieved a bottle of brandy from the den and poured her a small glass. Adam held it to Madeline's mouth and she reached up and grasped his hand and controlled sipping the smooth drink. She had sighed as the brandy warmed her; it was what she needed only now she wanted more—much more. She was having difficulty pulling off the change of identity and needed courage—even if it came from a bottle. And after her "spell", both Adam and Stratford were deferential, looking to her after every piece of news to see if she felt faint again.

"You told me what she was really like—do you honestly think my parents would rest quietly with their estranged daughter next to them having become what she did?" Madeline felt that it was a strong argument but she quickly realized she had underestimated Adam.

Giving a small snort of disdain, Adam responded. "First, Marjorie, your parents are dead. Your sister is dead. They have no opinions anymore. We are concerned with disposing of your sister's remains and I don't know how you can go back to your church guild and face any possible questions about what has happened to your sister if you then have to say that you allowed her to be buried in some anonymous plot back east. After all, you'd been sharing your upcoming trip to Baltimore with the ladies and from what you've told me and what Mrs. Worth told me, all of you were hoping for a second firebrand like you—that you would bring Madeline back with you and she would join in your…projects. What are you planning to tell them about your sister—a lie as you told me and my father?"

Stratford cleared his throat. He was uncomfortable with the Cartwrights arguing; he was embarrassed for them and he realized that he had formed an incorrect assessment about Mrs. Cartwright; he must be losing his abilities as he used to be able to figure out a person's character within five minutes of meeting them, a necessary skill for a lawyer. But her… Maybe, he considered, he had been dazzled by her beauty then as he was now and…damn, he was getting old. He was becoming lecherous and the sight of a full bosom distracted him.

"Now, Mr. Cartwright," Stratford said, "if your wife and you would like, I can have her sister buried with a headstone and in a nice cemetery. Even if she wasn't a church member, well, with enough money we could have her buried in the middle of the Baltimore Cathedral."

"Thank you but we're going to have her brought here. I don't know about the…maid, though. What about it, Marjorie?"

Marjorie dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. She had pulled it out earlier to feign crying as Stratford revealed the news about her sister and before Adam read the letter for himself.

"Whatever you think is best." She sat quietly and looked elsewhere to distract herself. Mrs. Hardesty needed to dust out there and also to strip the bed. She would have to remind her. And she needed a bath drawn.

"I'll contact the constabulary," Adam said, "and tell them I'll claim the bodies. Are you sure they haven't been buried yet?"

"No, I'm not but I can contact my man there in Baltimore and then…."

"What if they've been buried, Adam?" Madeline said rising form her chair. She intentionally raised her voice a few pitches attempting to sound hysterical. "Are you going to have them dug up and shipped here? How ghoulish—how horrid! And the letter said the bodies had been in the room for three days before they were discovered by the staff—there was a 'No service" sign on the door handle. People are usually buried within that time and not left…rotting. I say, bury them up there—let their bodies rest in peace after all they've been through." Madeline quickly ran up the stairs and into the bedroom where she had slept—where Adam had slept with her just last night. The bed was still tousled, the sheets twisted since the Hardesty's hadn't yet arrived for the day, it not even 7:00 in the morning.

 _Where's the door key?_ Madeline looked around; she wanted to lock the bedroom door, to lock Adam out and this time she wouldn't open it to him. He would have to kick the door down. She ran her hand along the fireplace mantel but it wasn't there. _That bastard—he took the key last night along with the bourbon. He's such a controlling son-of-a-bitch! Just like Markham—he has to be in charge just like Markham. The only difference is that Adam hasn't yet thrashed me or forced himself on me and laughed about it, but..._

Madeline stopped; a way out of the situation suddenly came to her. _Instead of seducing his father, if I can taunt Adam into slapping me, striking me, maybe worse, then I can leave. I'll have a reason and his family will back me—I'm sure. Marjorie would never stand for that, for a man to slap her around. Never. She would leave so I can as well._ Madeline had hidden her small leather bag under the mattress and panic suddenly gripped her. _What if it's not there anymore?_ She kneeled beside the bed and pushed her hand under the mattress trying to feel for it but the mattress was too heavy and since it was held up by a hammock of tight hemp netting, her hand kept becoming entangled in the crisscross knotted ropes. She began to panic. _What if it's gone-stolen? But it has to be there. No one else has been in the room except me and Adam and Mrs. Hardesty when she brought up the broth. It was just easier to slide the bag under than to remove it—that's all. It has to be here._

Madeline lay on her back and pushed herself under the bed. She saw the bag. She sighed in relief. It was still there but she saw that it had become entangled in the ropes. She decided that when the time came, she would just cut the ropes to extricate the bag that held her money.

Madeline worked her way back out and then went to the vanity mirror to push her hair back in place. Yesterday morning, before Adam had first arrived home, she had taken the brush, comb and mirror set off the vanity in the other room—a plain, simple wood boar's hair brush and comb and a bottle of lemon verbena toilet water, a scent that, in Madeline's opinion, only spinsters and grandmothers wore. Madeline had pulled open all the drawers of the vanity table and there were merely folded handkerchiefs, a sachet tucked among them, and a few jewel cases with simple earrings and jeweled necklaces—the majority, paste. It was also the room where Marjorie's clothes hung in a good-sized closet. There had been a few evening dresses that Madeline had half-pulled out to see better, but the majority of them were simple, high necked dresses just like the modest ones in the valise, and a few starched cotton blouses. The hats in their round milliners' boxes were stacked on the top shelf that ran along the closet length and Madeline had looked at them the day before; dull and simple. Madeline had then gone through the drawers and pulled out some underclothes and a few night gowns as well as stockings and a corset. Madeline knew she would have to be pulled tighter to fit into the waist of Marjorie's dresses but then her breasts were pushed up to become fuller and that caused other issues with clothes. She had decided that she would visit the dressmaker and have some dresses let out—just a few so that she would have something to wear for the short time she planned to be there, and then buy a few calico dresses off the rack; she thought of that type of dress as printed sacks. But she had seen no other choice—but that plan was ruined by Stratford's arrival. _Damn all men! Nothing but trouble! They ruin everything-everything! Or maybe that's just my lot in life._

But she didn't have much time to consider her appearance anymore as the door opened and she spun around to see Adam standing in the doorway. She tried to calm herself down, to steady her breathing. But to Adam, his wife had never looked more beautiful—never more desirable than at that moment. Her eyes were wild, her cheeks flushed, her lips red and she was breathing heavily while glossy, black tendrils fell loosely from her mussed hair; to him, she looked to him as if she had just enjoyed a man.

"What do you want?" Madeline faced him down. She would be irrational, intractable, would call him names and go about attempting to belittle him. Then he would strike her, she was sure. "I have no need of you."

Adam stepped into the room. "Oh, I think you do. I think you need me quite a bit." He moved closer to her. He could smell her skin and it had a different scent, a scent of heat and lust and hunger. "I told Stratford to contact the officials in Baltimore. I want your sister's body sent here—and that of the maid. If she served your sister, well, she apparently died while trying to defend them both."

"Do what you want then—I don't agree with you though. Would you please leave now?" Through the open bedroom window, the curtains fluttered from the light spring breeze. Madeline heard a wagon pull up in the yard. She went over to the window, bending to stick her head out to see but heard Adam behind her say that it was only the Hardestys. They arrived every morning at 7:00—but then she knew that, didn't she, he asked.

Madeline felt Adam's hands on her waist and then the weight of his body as he bent over her, kissing the back of her neck.

"Stop," she said, twisting around so they were face to face. "Let me go. It's only 7 in the morning and the Hardestys…" But she could say no more because she was silenced by his mouth. He murmured that he loved her, that he adored her and that he was desperate for her and then Madeline stopped struggling; she could anger him later, make him furious later, but this, this coupling she would enjoy.


	10. Chapter 10

Mrs. Hardesty pulled a freshly-starched apron out of the drawer in the kitchen pantry and tied it on. Clucking disapprovingly to herself, she scanned the kitchen; it had been left a mess, the bacon grease partially congealed in the fry pan left in the sink. The Missus knew about the dripping crock and always added the left-over bacon fat to be used later for seasoning, gravy or making crisp fry bread, the Mister's large brother's favorite breakfast. And the plates had been stacked, one plate on top of another, the egg residue turning into a type of glue—the plates not having been scraped and rinsed. And to make things even worse, the coffee pot was left on the stove and the acrid odor of burnt coffee filled the room. This wasn't the usual way the Missus left things. But lately, Mrs. Hardesty had noticed that the couple weren't the same as they had been either. There was an atmosphere of decadence about the place, the way the Mister hadn't been able to concentrate at dinner the night before. Oh he had participated in the small talk about one of the cows going dry and needing to be bred—but Mrs. Hardesty knew he was listening for a sound within the house, something to indicate the Missus was downstairs in the sitting room. It had been odd and made Mrs. Hardesty think the couple had perhaps argued.

Mrs. Hardesty shook her head and went about cleaning up but she stopped; things were too quiet. The kitchen door had been unlocked so that meant the two were home. The Mister's horse was still saddled and tied to the hitching post so he was home for certain. But it was unusually quiet. Normally when she arrived, the Missus was preparing to leave the house for one of her meetings and the Mister was either already gone or about to go. In the winter when the darkness lingered longer, the Missus would still be dressed in that neat way she had, everything prim and tucked in, her hat waiting by the door, her manteaux on the hook until it was light enough to leave. And the kitchen was always left clean and neat, not considering the occasional pot of oatmeal left to soak.

With a meat cleaver in hand, Mrs. Hardesty stood at the bottom of the stairs and listened. There was a sound from upstairs, that was for certain. She considered calling in her husband and sending him upstairs to see if anything odd was happening but decided against it; he would be no help. Mrs. Hardesty carefully walked up the stairs, holding the cleaver ready to slam it down on anyone who threatened her. And as she reached the upper level, she heard the noise louder and clearer—someone was making odd cries and at first she thought someone was ill but then she realized what the sound meant. Her face flushed with embarrassment. She shouldn't be privy to such things but then she heard the Mister as well and froze on the spot. She smiled and straightened her apron, dropping her arm that held the cleaver. Well, pleasure should be reciprocal among married people, especially such fine young people and that explained the mess in the kitchen—the Missus had been taken back to the bedroom before he had time to straighten. And with a slight sense of longing that those times had long passed for her, Mrs. Hardesty went downstairs and back to her kitchen. Let the young people enjoy each other while they could. And she began to sing to herself while she worked.

Madeline lay indolently in Adam's arms. He pulled her closer and glanced at her. She was beautiful—every inch of her and he swore that one night he would kiss every inch of her. But now he just enjoyed the knowing she was next to him. _Enjoy what you have and don't question luck._ His father had said that once.

Adam had tried to apologize earlier about taking his wife in light of the news of her sister's death—she should have refused him—he would have understood. But she said as she caressed his face, that it was because of what happened, because it could just as easily have been she who was killed in the hotel room that she did want him. She decided to enjoy being with him, to enjoy all the delights life had to offer while she was still able to relish them. He didn't question her sincerity.

So they had lain together and kissed each other and touched one another in ways that Adam had never experienced with her and although certain questions entered his mind, he pushed them aside. This was his wife as he had always wished her, someone more interested in him than to putting others first. This Marjorie who teased him and flirted with him, laughed with him and matched his desire with hers—yes, she was everything he wanted.

The sun was coming in the widow at a lesser angle and Adam knew that that it must be time for Joe to arrive and he had to leave but he didn't want to. Marjorie was lightly dozing with her head on his chest and he touched her thick black hair. As she had said, it could have been she who was killed instead of her sister. They were identical twins and who would know…his heart pounded. What if the change in his wife had nothing to do with rich food and a new appreciation of the sensual aspects of life? What if this was Madeline in his arms, the twin? He didn't want to consider it.

"Time to get up, love," Adam said, leaning over and kissing her smooth shoulder. She opened her eyes and smiled. Then she stretched—Adam thought she looked like a sleek cat. "Joe will be here soon. I have to take care of matters at the mine and…Marjorie?"

She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed but turned her face to him. "What?"

"I…we haven't really talked about your sister. Would you rather I stay home today with you? Maybe we could go see the pastor, talk to him about…"

"No," Madeline said. She stood up and again Adam admired her; she was beautiful. And yet there was something, a certain sensuality she had never before possessed. "I don't want to think about it—to remember it. I just want to go on."

"Remember what?" Adam sat up. He watched her face change; she became alert, her face guarded.

"Leave me alone about it. What does talking about it do? How can that help? She was actually dead to us years ago as it was. I'm glad I was able to reconcile but I'd like to think she's just…away. Now I need to wash up before Joe comes. Would you leave or do you like to watch?"

That was unlike Marjorie. Usually, Adam considered, it was he who was snide, who made cutting remarks, not Marjorie. She was different. Perhaps she had learned from her sister how to verbally spar with a man as well as physically

~ 0 ~

Joe pulled the buggy into the yard and Mrs. Hardesty came out to greet him.

"Hello, beautiful," Joe said as he jumped down. He kissed her on the cheek. "Have you decided yet to leave your husband and run away with me?"

"Now, Mr. Joe, you talk such foolishness." She blushed and giggled, but Joe Cartwright was such a charmer and so very handsome that she enjoyed his teasing. "The Missus will be down in a moment; she wanted me to ask you to wait."

"Isn't that just like a woman? They want you to be on time so they can make you wait."

"Well, there's been bad news. The Mister told me this morning before he left. He said he won't be home for lunch because he needs to talk to you, Hoss and your father."

"Oh, bad news? What?" Joe became sober.

"Well, I should let your brother tell you but…I suppose you should know before the Missus comes down." Mrs. Hardesty's thoughts shot to her husband and what he always told her—"Keep your nose out of other people's business. I swear, Mother, you seem to enjoy talking about others. Gossip is gossip and it's a sin."

"I think you should," Joe said." I mean I might say something wrong. I'd hate to have her burst into tears over something I said." Joe was anxious. He wasn't yet good at consoling others; he became as upset as they were.

Mrs. Hardesty looked behind her and then leaned in so only Joe could hear. "Seems her sister was killed—murdered back in Baltimore."

Joe stood open-mouthed and suddenly wished it was Hoss or his father who was driving Marjorie to town and considered leaving but Madeline came out pulling on her gloves.

"Good morning, Joseph," she said. "Thank you, Mrs. Hardesty. You can go about your chores now."

"Yes, ma'am," Mrs. Hardesty said but she looked back to Joe as if to say, _See? She's behaving differently_. But Mrs. Hardesty felt something more—the Missus was behaving a bit uppity toward her, had given her orders—not requests but orders. Before her trip, Mrs. Cartwright had treated her more kindly, even apologizing if the kitchen wasn't neat and orderly when she arrived in the morning but now, she said nothing, hadn't apologized for the mess And that wasn't all. The Missus tossed her clothing about, even her undergarments, just dropping them where she removed them. And then this morning the Missus called her up to assist in tightening her corset and the bed was still in total disarray, a witness to the conjugal activity. The Missus never would have left it that way before, would have stripped the bed. Mrs. Hardesty had the distinct impression that there was a new tone to the relationship between her two employers that bled into their relationship with her. But what caused it was none of her business, that she knew. If Mr. Cartwright was now ruled by his wife's nether parts, that was certainly no business of hers. But she would have liked to know what had caused the change.

The ride to town was uncomfortable for Joe; he had never felt quite so awkward in his sister-in-law's presence. He searched to find a topic of conversation that might allow her to tell him about her loss in her own manner and her own time.

"I guess you'll have a lot to catch up with at the meeting. There's been a lot of progress on the building." Joe waited but was met by silence. "Pa donated more lumber; he and I took it out to the site and he also brought along a few hands we could spare; they started plastering the inside walls and the common kitchen looks really nice. The stove should be here in a few more weeks. It's coming by freight—but I guess you know that. It's a big one—has two ovens and you can put 8 pots on at a time. Boy, Hop Sing would have a field day with it."

Madeline finally spoke. "I'm not going to the meeting."

"No? Well, where am I taking you then?"

"I need some new clothes so to the dressmaker, that is if you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind. I mean, we're going to town anyway so…" Joe became silent and focused on watching the horse's ears twitch as it pulled the buggy.

"I'm sorry if I'm not as talkative as usual," Madeline said hoping that Marjorie had been chatty with her in-laws, "but my sister was killed in Baltimore. Murdered. We just found out this morning."

"Margie, I'm so sorry. Can I take you to the pastor or to the doctor's or anything?"

Madeline wanted to scream. What was it that these Cartwright's thought that talking to a pastor would help—her sister was already dead. What could a pastor do about that? Of course, she could confide in the pastor about her lies, her assuming Marjorie's identity and the seduction of her brother-in-law but she doubted it would make her feel any better, any less guilty. And without being aware, Madeline chuckled at the shock with which her confession would be received.

Joe looked at her, surprised she would laugh at such a time.

"I apologize," Madeline said. "I was just thinking about something my sister had said—it was funny and I was going over our last visit together. I know it must seem odd."

"No, not really. My father once said that everyone handles grief their own way and sometimes, remembering a silly thing they said or did and being able to laugh, well, that's a way to deal with your feelings."

"Yes. Thank you, Joe. Your father's very wise." Madeline put her hand lightly on Joe's leg and she noticed that he blushed and shifted a bit in his seat. And she considered him. He was young, too young to be considered a serious lover but Adam would be enraged if she and his baby brother had a romantic entanglement. He wouldn't mind her leaving then. And Joe was a handsome boy. She thought about the ways she could both delight and torment him; it would be a distraction, a way to take her mind off problems.

Joe cleared his throat and Madeline removed her gloved hand from his leg. "I guess, after what happened that you and Adam won't be going to the Spring Dance. That's a shame. I'm going with Amy. Well, she hasn't said yes yet—I haven't asked her but I plan to."

"Amy?"

"Yeah. Amy Buxton?" Joe looked questioningly at Madeline. She should know who Amy was. He had been courting her for a few months, even had the couple over for dinner. But perhaps since receiving the bad news just that morning, she couldn't concentrate. He would excuse it.

"Oh, yes. Of course." Madeline thought about the spring dance and what she would wear if she were going. She would make these Virginia City women look like school girls and that thought gave her some satisfaction.


	11. Chapter 11

The Hardestys had left for the day, Mrs. Hardesty announcing the kitchen had been cleaned for the night; all was ready for breakfast, the coffeepot filled with cold water and on the stove. Mrs. Hardesty also took notice that the Missus barely acknowledged it, just gave small nod.

"Have you noticed anything different between the two of 'em?" Mrs. Hardesty asked her husband as they drove through the dark

"If I had, I wouldn't mention it to you; might just as well announce it in church Sunday as that." He clucked to the horse to step up its pace.

"That's just like you" she replied. "You wouldn't say anything to me no matter what! But I've noticed that the Missus has become…slack. Oh she's fine with her appearance and all that, taking right good care of her appearance for the Mister's sake, as if he ever had eyes for anyone else, but the way she leaves things now! Lord have mercy! She behaves as if I'm her personal maid. She called me up this morning to help her with her corset and the room was a mess—she'd tossed dresses all over the bed which was a mess in itself that I won't even mention—and there was a wet towel and wash cloth on the floor, water sloshed over the basin and on the floor as well. You'd think she'd be ashamed and apologize for the way things were left but she just told me, 'Clean this up,' waving her hand over everything. She behaves as if she's some queen or such. I don't like the change in her at all."

The couple rode long in silence. "Well, aren't you going to say something?" Mrs. Hardesty was often frustrated with her husband's taciturn nature.

"Okay. There was too much salt in the mashed potatoes tonight; you're lucky they didn't complain."

"Oh, you." She pursed her lips and crossed her arms below her bosom. There would be nothing more from her husband, Mrs. Hardesty knew. She would just have to wait until after church Sunday and see if any of the other women in church noticed how Mrs. Cartwright seemed a bit proud lately, a bit too haughty. They would notice and they would also notice her husband sniffing after her as if she was a bitch in heat. Mrs. Hardesty smiled to herself; she would have an interesting conversation then.

~ 0 ~

Adam sat reading _The Scarlet Letter;_ he didn't really care for it but it had received good reviews and the subject of unsanctified love, adultery even with the spouse assumed to be dead, something which wouldn't have meant anything earlier, now seemed written just for an audience of one—him. And Adam also found himself identifying not just with Dimmesdale and his scourging in the privacy of his closet but also with the vengeance-filled husband, Chillingworth. Adam could understand both points of view and kept glancing over at his wife. She had taken up her needlepoint where she had left off before her trip only she seemed to be having a difficult time. She had pulled out a few stitches that weren't correct for some reason or another and then the threads knotted together making it impossible to continue. She had even once thrown the hoop across the room. Adam had looked at her, brows raised and she flushed. And without a word, she rose, picked it up and went back to straightening the threads, finally tying them off and clipping them. Then she tried to thread the needle and finally successfully did so but apparently the new stitches were unsatisfactory. She stared at them, puzzled.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She looked up. "Nothing. I just…I guess I wasn't thinking." She took out the new stitches and as Adam watched, it appeared that she had finally discovered she had to divide the six-thread skein into two sections so that the thread was only three strands thick. After a few more stitches, she stuck the needle in the canvas and put the whole thing back in the basket by the chair.

"Why are you having so much trouble tonight?" He glanced up but went back to his book.

"What do you mean?"

Adam closed the book, keeping his page with his forefinger. "You seem to be having trouble with that cross stich. You told me once you find it relaxing but it seems to be anything but."

"Oh, I just…tonight I seem to be all thumbs." Madeline noticed him looking at her evenly as if he was waiting for something.

She felt on edge, felt like having a stiff drink to relax but Adam had locked up the liquor cabinet in the den; she had tried the latch that afternoon and cursed with frustration when it wouldn't open. She riffled through the desk drawers looking for the key and then, in a panic, tried to straighten the papers and items inside the drawers but despite her best efforts, she was certain Adam would know she had been there. But even though he had been in his den to replace the books for the mine, he had yet to say anything about it.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice tinged with irritation. "Why are you looking at me that way?"

"No reason except that you seem unusually jittery."

"I'm just overtired. That's all."

"Is that what it is? I asked Joe about this morning, how the trip to town went; I was concerned. I'm surprised you didn't call off the visit."

"I needed to get out."

"Oh, I see. Joe said that you spent the whole time in the dress shop, almost bought it out, according to him. And when he picked you up, he had to wait; you were being fitted for a ball gown. Mrs. Dorsey was grinning ear to ear when she helped carry out the boxes."

"I needed new clothes and most of what I bought was just for I bought was just dressesses_every day and…I really have nothing nice to wear for…the spring dance…that is, if we go. And also, I could wear the gown…I don't know. It will be peach satin with ecru lace about the edge of the sleeves and…" She wished he would say something but he just sat and watched her with a slight sneer.

"Joe also said that Mrs. Walker asked about you, asked why you missed the meeting. He wasn't sure if he should tell her about… Adam found he couldn't refer to the death of the woman in Baltimore as the thought that it may be Marjorie haunted him. "He wasn't sure if you wanted to tell her yourself about the death in your family or not so he said nothing."

"He could have gone ahead and told her—I wouldn't have minded." Madeline didn't like Adam's expression; he was up to something. Then she knew; he was tricking her. "Did you say it was Mrs. Walker? That name…"

"The Temperance League." Adam waited.

"Oh, yes. Well…" Madeline looked down at her hands.

"I guess you'll turn in your resignation, so to speak, now that you've discovered the joys of hard whiskey. Makes Christmas buying so much easier—just a bottle of grain alcohol in your hanging stocking and you'll be a happy woman."

Madeline stood up and brushed some strands off her forehead. Madeline had found Marjorie's snoods and hair nets and since she now had no one to help with her hair, to save time she had piled her hair into one of the simple crocheted snoods but small strands still fell out around her forehead. "I think I'll go up to bed now. Good night, Adam."

"No kiss for your husband?" He asked and was perversely pleased to see the look on her face, one of being caught by surprise.

"Well, of course." Madeline walked over to Adam and bent down to kiss his cheek. He grabbed her arm and pulled her down over his lap, holding her against his chest.

"We need to have a talk."

"Just let me up first and we will. I don't know…why are you looking at me like that?" Marjorie noticed that Adam was scanning her face, looking for any subtleties of difference, some nuance of expression.

"I just like looking at you. You are a beautiful woman. But you know that. You made Joe uncomfortable; he told our father about it and when I saw them today, my father took me aside and told me. Seems you behaved inappropriately."

Madeline slightly struggled to get up but he held her tightly. She released a breath. "I did nothing inappropriate. What did he say I did? Whatever it was, he's lying."

"Of course he is. You're the only person who tells the truth—just you. I wondered about your sleeping in a different room. Are you letting me know in your own subtle way that you're tired of me? Is that why we're not sleeping in the same bed or is it something else?"

"We have been sleeping in the same bed, haven't we?" She tried to pull away but he was too strong. "I don't know what you want more than that. And what's wrong with our sleeping in separate rooms? It's a common trait among the upper classes or….when one of the partners doesn't sleep well. "

"Partners? " Adam chuckled and Madeline went cold; he was on to her; she was positive. "So that's what we are? Partners? Not husband and wife, not lovers? Partners? No, I'm partners with people who I'm in business with, not with you. Now I want you to listen closely."

Madeline felt his arms tighten about her but it wasn't with affection; she became afraid of him, more afraid than she had ever been of Markham. Markham lost his temper on a regular basis, would strike her whenever he chose but this man, he controlled his temper, controlled all his feeling and kept them in check but the anger was there, the ability to hurt and destroy was just below the surface just as the muscles lay below his skin. Madeline knew that if he lost control—she tried not to think about it.

"If you have it in your mind to carry on with Joe or anyone else in my family, I'll make you regret it in ways you can't even imagine. If you think I'd divorce you, you're wrong. I would want to keep you close to watch your misery, to be the perpetrator. Do you understand, my love?"

She struggled again but Adam held her even tighter. "Do you understand?"

Madeline wanted to spew out that Marjorie had said how wonderful her husband was, how understanding and kind but obviously Marjorie was wrong—or she didn't really know him at all. But Madeline couldn't chance giving herself away, at least not yet. Instead, she spat out, "Yes, I understand. Now let me go."

Adam practically shoved her off his lap and she straightened her clothing, glaring down at him.

Adam laughed. "I don't think even Medusa could give such a baleful glare." He laughed again as she attempted to regain her dignity and went up the stairs but he called out to her and she froze, one hand on the newel post. "Mrs. Walker died three months ago; her heart gave out."

Madeline refused to look at Adam and continued up the stairs and when she was gone, Adam's smile dropped away. The suspicion that he had been enjoying Madeline, his wife's twin sister and that Marjorie was dead was practically confirmed but he still had to know for certain who the woman in his house was, if she was Marjorie or Madeline and when he thought back to their nights together and just that morning, he hoped desperately that she was Marjorie. But then, there was Joe and what he had said and that had made Adam's blood run cold. He needed a drink-badly.


	12. Chapter 12

In the semi-darkness, looking down at the woman asleep in his bed, Adam thought of princesses put under a sleeping spell until woken by a kiss. He would have kissed her, would have brought her back to him if he knew for certain she was his wife but he was almost certain now she wasn't. The woman who had delighted him wasn't the woman he fell in love with a few years ago but the woman who had captured his heart only a few days ago and whom he now hated—at least he wanted to hate her.

As Madeline slept, He conjectured why she had decided to share his room that night, what had always been his and Marjorie's room before she left for Baltimore. He smiled to himself. It was to make him forget this evening—more like ignore this evening, ignore all that happened. But no matter what tricks she knew, he was on to her. She was cunning but not enough.

Adam had drunk too much, that he knew. Initially, he tried to convince himself to just stop thinking, to stop doubting that the woman was Marjorie but the more he drank, the more certain he became she was Madeline but why the ruse, the façade of pretending to be her sister, of taking over her sister's life? How could she possibly hope to pull it off? Was it for money? Was being the mistress of a powerful man so awful, so horrible that Madeline seized the chance to change her life? But maybe it depended on the man. And was Madeline clever, had she planned it or was she just an opportunist? Along with Euripedes, Adam had to agree that a clever woman could be dangerous. And he considered, if she had beauty and talents in the ways of love, well, that made her deadly.

A smile crept over his face. He knew as soon as he opened the first drawer that someone had been through his desk, obviously her. His guess was that she had been looking for the key to the locked liquor cabinet and hadn't found it. He had hidden it on the top shelf on the bookcase, a place he could easily reach but not she. Either she hadn't thought of looking there or run out of time.

Adam slowly unbuttoned his shirt and then dropped it on the floor, kicking it aside. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off first one boot and then the other, letting them thud onto the floor. There was movement from the woman in the bed as the sound disturbed her. Adam pulled off his trousers and tossed them in a corner. He slid under the covers and reached for her to pull her closer, wanting to wake her and find out exactly what had happened in Baltimore and was pleasantly surprised to feel nothing but her smooth, scented skin. He ran his hand over her breasts and belly.

She half-opened her eyes and smiled at him. "Oh, Adam…you've come to bed."

"Yes." He pulled her closer.

Madeline laughed lowly. "I wanted to apologize—I'm been so…not myself lately and this seemed the best way to show you my love." She put her arms about his neck and kissed him, smiling to herself when she felt his body respond. Adam would forgive her, of that she was certain. "Tell me you love me," she whispered.

"You think that's all it takes? That all you have to do is crawl in my bed and wait for me like some spider."

"So that's the way you feel. You are unforgiving—and cruel. I'll go to my own bed." She attempted to rise but Adam grabbed her arm and pulled her back down.

"No, my love," he said, his face close to hers. "You'll stay here. A wife belongs with her husband, doesn't she? Now lie back down."

She did—she was suddenly afraid not to. She could smell the whiskey on him and had no idea what he was like in that state.

"I'll stay" she said in a shaky voice, "but I expect to remain…unmolested." She hoped she sounded confident.

His deep, sardonic laughter chilled her. "You'll stay because you have no choice. And as for unmolested, oh, you are something else, Madeline. Yes, Madeline. I know who you are."

"No, I…" Madeline tried harder to wrest her arm away but he only held her tighter.

"You've been willing to do anything and everything I suggested and even had your own ideas—original ideas at that. I never knew you had such a fertile imagination and now you want to be left 'unmolested'. Well, you know what my love, that's fine. I suddenly find I don't want you anyway. As a matter of fact, I don't even want you near me."

Adam released her and left the bed and while Madeline watched with wide-eyes, he went around to her side, grabbed both her arms and pulled her out from under the sheets. She would have fallen except that he slipped one arm about her waist and lifted her off her feet. Then he practically carried her from the bedroom and across the hall to the room with her belongings. She fought him as best she could, hearing his heavy breathing as he held on to her. Struggling and ordering him to let her go, she attempted to twist out of the perverse embrace but he was much stronger. He pushed her into the dark bedroom and she turned to face him. She hated him, of that she was certain.

Adam stood at the open door, his chest heaving from the struggle. "You can stay here all by yourself-unmolested. In the morning, we're going to town. I'm sending a wire to Baltimore. I want to know what actually happened there, what the investigation uncovered. And if you think you're going to use your 'charms' on me again, you're grievously mistaken."

Madeline, shaking, stood in the room, close to tears. Adam knew the woman was at his mercy—and she did as well. Adam closed the door with a sense of satisfaction. Madeline didn't move-just waited. He might be back, he might do something worse. All was quiet but then she heard him outside the closed door, heard him grab the door knob. Madeline didn't know if she should be thrilled that he was returning, that he might want her. It would allow her to buy more time. But then perhaps she should be afraid of facing him. But then her heart fell and she held her breath—she heard the key turn; he had locked her in.

Panic made her heart pound. It hadn't worked—Adam hadn't allowed himself to be seduced. Things were different now—the whole world had again shifted-and she knew this time she had lost and had to leave—escape him. Perhaps she could pack a bag and climb out the window. But what would she do then? She had no idea how to saddle a horse or hitch a buggy and she certainly couldn't walk all that way to Carson City, especially in the dead of night. Madeline opened the bedroom window and looked out—the breeze chilled her and there was no nearby tree from which to lower herself to the ground. She went to the closet and pulled out the valise. She would be ready- packed and ready. Early in the morning, once Mrs. Hardesty was here banging around in the kitchen and Adam was gone to town, then she would retrieve her money hidden under the mattress even if she had to chew through the rope to free the leather bag.

Adam went back to his bed. He tried to sleep. He had lied to her but couldn't to himself; he wanted the woman in the other room despite his words to the contrary and he didn't care if she was Marjorie or Madeline—he wanted her but he steeled himself against his own urgings. He lay waiting—for what he didn't really know.

 _Sleep it off. You'll need a clear mind to deal with her. Tomorrow you'll have to deal with the facts, deal with her, ask her what happened. And what if she can't answer the questions—or won't answer? What then?_ With the questions left unanswered, and the feel of Madeline in his arms still tormenting him, the scent of her hair, the taste of her mouth still with him, Adam slipped into a fitful sleep.

Ben and Madeline sat in the lobby of the hotel waiting for Adam to return from sending a wire to the Baltimore police. The day was unusually warm for the time of year, early spring so Ben suggested that he and Miss Purl wait inside the hotel instead of in the buggy and Adam reluctantly agreed.

"He wants me to suffer, to make me as miserable as possible, don't you, Adam?" Madeline had asked as Ben lifted her down.

"If only I could." Adam walked away to the telegraph office but he was in turmoil. He hadn't slept the night before; the past few days haunted him—he had known that the woman he kissed, the woman under him those times wasn't Marjorie—his gut knew but he didn't want to face it and it wasn't just for the emotional pain of losing her—it was because he enjoyed Madeline. Adam had rationalized the supposed change in his wife, hoping that their separation had shown Marjorie how much he meant to her and that she was so much in love with him that she would efface her own needs to please him; nothing was too degrading if it added to their bod, brought them closer. But the woman was Madeline, he was sure now and it had been she who had made him groan. Madeline matched him in his desire and had no modesty or shame for her actions. And because he had enjoyed her flesh so much, Adam was miserable. But last night, through the hours of darkness he did receive a certain satisfaction from Madeline's pounding on her bedroom door and demanding to be let out until eventually, she became silent. But Adam hadn't been able to sleep even then so in the early hours of the morning, he went into his office and poured himself a drink of whiskey and waited for the sun to come up. He would again face Madeline and he wasn't sure how he would feel.

Adam told the Hardestys that he and Mrs. Cartwright would be away for the whole day and so after tending the stock, they could leave and enjoy their day off. "And please keep the eggs and take the milk home. I'll have one of my brothers come over later today for the second milking."

"Well, I can still put on the coffee and make a batch of biscuits. Maybe fry up some side pork—make biscuits and gravy?" Mrs. Hardesty wanted inside. The Mister was behaving oddly

"Thank you for the offer," Adam said trying to smile, "but we'll have breakfast in town."

"Well, if you're sure…" Mrs. Hardesty had removed her bonnet and now she put it back on, tying the ribbons below her chin.

"I'm sure." Adam wanted them to leave quickly before Madeline started her pounding and demanding she be released from the room but she must have been exhausted from her efforts because she remained silent.

"Well, I'll help Mr. Hardesty then," she said. "I'll take care of the chickens."

Adam thanked her but she was suspicious. He hadn't even let her in, just stopped her on the porch. She wondered if the Missus had met with an unfortunate accident or if there was something perverse going on. Since the Missus' trip it seemed nothing here was the same—they had both changed.

~ 0 ~

"Well," Mr. Hardesty said as he drove along the much traveled road from the Cartwrights' places and town, "now you have some fresh eggs. I'm hoping for a cake, maybe a nice applesauce cake?"

"You and your stomach. Is food all you can think of?"

"It's one of my few pleasures at my age and no one, no one can make a better applesauce cake than you, Mother. You always take the ribbon at the fair."

Mrs. Hardesty smiled at the compliment; yes, she always won the blue ribbon at the cake competition. Nevertheless, she was concerned about her employers. "I wonder if Mrs. Cartwright is all right."

"Now, Mother, why would you wonder that? And why would you think she isn't?"

"He never let me in and I swear that when I was feeding the chickens, I heard a commotion coming from an open window—the window in the Missus' bedroom, the one she's been sleeping in. hat in and of itself is strange. I mean they're young people and although they sport—at least from the mess of linens it seems so—she's sleeping in a different room."

"Not your business and if you're hearing things and if there was a commotion, was it a woman screaming bloody murder?"

"Of course, not! I'm not saying he killed her, just that something's not right—hasn't been right since she came home. And as for the Mister, you know how masterful he can be; the Missus always seemed a bit…" She considered her words. "Intimidated by him."

Mr. Hardesty shook his head at his wife's musings. But she was right about one thing. When the Mister was in a certain mood, only a fool would cross him and his young bride didn't seem like a foolish woman.

"You know, about two months or so ago the Missus asked me how you know if a man loves a woman. Can you imagine her asking such a thing?" Mrs. Hardesty waited but her husband said nothing. "I told her that it's not what you would expect—it's not so much in words—men can spout all sorts of malarkey, but it's in small ways. The poor, young thing didn't know what I meant but I could tell she was afraid that the Mister wasn't in love with her and then she has no mother anymore to help her out, to give her advice. Anyway, I told her that if she was worried that her husband didn't love her, she was wrong. Why didn't he let her spend money any way she liked, donate it to her charities and he did he ever complain about her time spent in all the good works? Why he even worked teaching sums to the Paiutes once a week and all for her. A man who would do all that must love his wife. Now you'd think she would've been happy with that answer but no. Do you know what she said next?"

"Now how would I know and why would I care? It's not our business."

"Well, it wouldn't be our business except that she asked me about the matter—I didn't stick my nose in. Well, she said that maybe he lets her get involved in so many things because he doesn't want to deal with her. Maybe he's glad she has other things to interest her so he doesn't have to talk to her evenings." She waited but her husband still said nothing. "Imagine that? And then I started to think back and I wondered too. He is a closed one, that man is, not all that warm but now he seems hot enough when it comes to Mrs. Cartwright. She shouldn't have doubts anymore."

"So, is it applesauce cake then?"


	13. Chapter 13

Earlier that morning when Adam had unlocked the bedroom door and walked in, Madeline was still asleep, her face gentle and calm, her hair spread out on the pillow, the chemise in which she had slept, twisted about her body. She looked vulnerable and Adam felt his heart soften toward her. He hadn't really listened to her, to any explanation she may have had; he had been too upset and angry. He considered giving Madeline another chance but then he thought of Marjorie, of her vitality, her sweetness and her good heart and what had happened to her and he braced himself against the sleeping woman. Damn her! She was going to be the one to pay since he had no one else.

In looking about, he noticed the valise was open on the floor waiting for more clothes, a few pieces already haphazardly thrown in. Obviously the futility of escape had been realized. Adam stood by the bed. The breeze that wafted through the open window, lifted some of the loose strands of Madeline's dark hair and they moved gently over her cheeks and forehead.

"Madeline, wake up."

She moved slightly and then her eyes flew open and she sat up and scooted back against the headboard.

"What do you want? To torment me more? To throw me out the window perhaps?"

"I want you to get dressed. We're going into town to see Sheriff Coffee."

"I don't want to. I don't want to go to see him." Madeline set her jaw. She had faced down Markham on occasion only it usually ended with her capitulating to his physical force when he finally had enough but she had decided that this man before her wasn't like Markham—this man had a conscience and that made her unsure of how to deal with him. But he did surprise her with the intensity of his rage.

Bending down, Adam grabbed the back of her neck, holding it vise-like, and growled, "I don't give a good goddamn what you want or don't want. And I would enjoy tossing you out the window so if you know what's good for you, get up and get dressed or I swear that I'll beat you within an inch of your life. Understand?" Madeline nodded as much as she could with his grip on her and Adam was pleased to see her eyes go wide with fear. He pulled her head back, looked into her blue eyes, and then released her as he would a dog he was holding to keep from biting him. When he reached the door, he turned again. "I'll give you 30 minutes. If you're not ready, I'll drag you out as you are and you can ride to town in your chemise."

So to spite him, Madeline dressed in one of Marjorie's nicest frocks, a low-necked deep blue dress. Madeline had lost a few pounds—she attributed it to nervous energy—and after struggling with her corset, the dress fit well. She admired herself in the vanity mirror, pleased with her appearance. Her black hair was basically unrestrained—all she had done was brush it, take two front sections, pull them back and up and secure them with pins. A decent married woman never wore her hair down; that was only for young virgins and children but Madeline was determined to annoy Adam any and every way she could. And when he came to fetch her, he stopped at the door.

"What are you dressed for?" He had to admit to himself that Madeline looked beautiful, desirable and he had to remind himself what she had—or actually, what she hadn't done in regard to Marjorie. "You think this trip is for pleasure?"

"I'm sure you'll take pleasure if things go as you want but I've never met Sheriff Coffee before so I thought I would make it a celebration. He is an old family friend, isn't he? I think your father mentioned him once that night I was there—or maybe it was Joseph when he took me to town. You know I had considered seducing him—I mean Joe, although I did consider your father. I debated sliding my foot up along your father's thigh at the dinner table one night. Did I tell you that?" Madeline waited. Adam didn't respond but she noticed his jaw muscles working; he was trying to stay in control and she rejoiced in her small victory. Madeline opened a drawer of the chest and pulled out a lace shawl which she placed about her shoulders and bent down for her parasol resting against the vanity. "Ready?"

And Adam didn't know if he wanted to violently kiss her, bend her over his knee and let her feel the sting of his palm or bend her over the bed and have his way with her. Or if he should just backhand her. So he did nothing, just stepped aside for her to go before him.

~ 0 ~

"But, Adam…" Ben said, confused when Adam pulled up with Madeline sitting beside him. Ben was ready to head out for the day and had expected to meet Adam at the mill. Instead, he had pulled up in a buggy and asked Ben to ride into Virginia City with him and Madeline Purl, who during Adam's explanation, raised her hands holding the parasol to show that her wrists were bound with a bandana. Ben was dumbfounded, finding the story unbelievable, incredible. Marjorie murdered in Baltimore? This woman whom he assumed to be Marjorie was, in actuality the twin, Madeline. Adam refused Ben's condolences, his sympathy saying that there were more important things to do at the moment.

"So tell me what the hell is going on? Why've you bound her wrists?"

"I'm taking her into Sheriff Coffee. She's a prisoner-I can't take a chance she'll try to crack me over the head with her parasol so I tied her hands."

"But…you're pressing charges for what? And against your own wife?"

"She's not my wife. I told you." Adam turned to Madeline. He waited while Ben looked expectantly at Madeline.

"I'm Madeline," she said quietly and looked away. Adam thought he sensed shame in her tone.

"So I'd like you to come into town with us, Pa. I really don't trust her…or myself. She tries anything and I might just shove her over the side."

So Ben rode into town with them, a silent ride, and when they pulled up in front of the jail, Ben lifted Madeline down. While Adam purposefully strode ahead, Ben untied her.

"Thank you," she said quietly and chafed the red marks on her wrists.

"You're welcome." Ben looked at her closely; she did look exactly like Marjorie and he could well understand how Adam could have been deceived for a time, but there was something else—an attitude, and air of… and then Ben knew. Madeline had the same sense of abandon about her that Marie had owned. Both Madeline and Marie had a sensuality that a man could almost smell. Ben caught his breath as Madeline looked at him, tossed back her hair with a subtle movement, decidedly feminine, and walked ahead and he couldn't help but watch the sway of her hips. He followed her into Roy's office.

Roy rose from his chair, pulling of his spectacles. "Mornin' Adam, Mrs. Cartwright…Ben. What can I do for you?" Roy considered that it must be a serious matter as Adam looked dark. "Why don't you sit down, ma'am?" He motioned to one of the two chairs opposite his desk. He nodded to Adam and Ben.

Madeline and Adam sat but Ben preferred to lean against the wall; he considered he was there more as an observer than anything else.

"This isn't 'Mrs. Cartwright,' Roy. This is Madeline Purl—Madeline Marsh is her alias. She's my…" Adam found he had trouble saying out loud what he now knew to be true. "She's my late wife's twin sister."

Roy's mouth dropped open. "Wait a minute. What are you talking about? Your late wife's sister? Are you saying that…"

"Yes, Roy." Adam tried to keep himself in check. He didn't want to discuss the circumstances of Marjorie's death.

"Oh, Adam. This is…I'm so sorry. I know what it's like to lose…"

"Roy." Adam interrupted him. "I want Miss Purl arrested. I want to press charges against her."

"Against her? Your wife's sister? For what?"

"For fraud." Adam wanted to press murder charges against Madeline although he didn't believe she actually was responsible for his wife's death but he wanted her to pay for being alive while Marjorie was dead.

"Fraud?"

"Yes. I want to press charges for fraud. She said she was…her sister."

"No, I didn't. I never did. I never said I was Marjorie. I just let everyone else assume it but I never claimed to be her."

Roy put out his hands in a form of supplication. "Adam, if what she says is true, well, there's no crime here and even if she did, I wouldn't lock her up anyway. This jail's no place for a woman. But let's find out the facts with clear heads. Now, Ben, did…Miss Purl, is it? Did Miss Purl ever say she was Mrs. Cartwright?"

Ben shifted uncomfortably. "Well, not that I can remember. Joe and I just went to pick her up at the depot and….well, what else were we supposed to think? She looked like Marjorie, just said she was tired and wanted to rest. But she did…" Ben considered his words. Adam was watching him, wanting him to give damning evidence but he couldn't. And yet when Madeline turned her head to look at him, she seemed to be permitting him to tell all that he knew. "She did lie about…there were things she said later that were designed to keep us believing she was Marjorie."

"Adam, I can't arrest a person for lying and since she didn't claim she was…" Roy cleared his throat. The whole import of the situation now came to him. Adam had behaved with this woman as if she was his wife and his wife who had been gone for a while; he remembered when he would come home to Mary after being gone for a few weeks and he found himself flushing; the knowledge of what had passed between Adam and his 'wife' made him understand Adam's need for revenge. "Adam, you know the law as well as I do—maybe even better in some cases but if I remember rightly, in order to have fraud, the perpetrator who would be Miss Purl here, had to intend to deprive someone of their rights or hurt them in some way and I don't see where that happened here. This isn't contract law and doesn't look like you can prove intent. Seems to me that she just took advantage of a situation and that's not a crime as long as no one was harmed."

"Look, Roy," Adam leaned in, "fraud includes taking an unconscientious advantage of another and she did. Miss Purl unconscientiously purchased clothing, ordered an expensive dress made, and charged them to me. I think that serves."

"Now, Miss Purl," Roy said in a kind and indulgent manner, "did you have any intent of repaying Mr. Cartwright here?"

"For God's sake, Roy, you're not her goddamn lawyer! Stop giving her a defense!" Adam rose from the chair and placing boht hands on the desk, leaned in threateningly. "I want her arrested. I'm sure that when I wire the Baltimore police and tell them about the mistaken identity, they'll want to talk to her. Now keep her in a cell until they can come for her."

"Now, Adam, I can't do that. I told you why and…"

With an explosion of breath, Adam turned and placed his hands on his hips. Ben decided to intervene.

"Adam, why don't you go send that wire to Baltimore. I'll stay with Mar…Miss Purl. We'll wait for you. All right?"

Adam looked at the three other people. Madeline refused to meet his eyes, just looked at the redness about her wrists and touched them. Ben and Roy looked at him expectantly.

"Fine. I'll do that and Roy…" Adam pointed a finger at Roy. "You've just been charmed by a skirt. Maybe you've been a widower far too long."

Roy's mouth fell open as Adam stormed out of the office.

"Well. I never…" Roy stood up. "Did you hear what he said to me?"

"Yes, I heard. Adam's under a lot of pressure right now and—I'm sorry, Roy." Ben put out a hand and Madeline took it, rising from her chair.

"Thank you, Sheriff." Madeline said, turning her face to him. She was aware of the effect she had on him because his expression softened. "I appreciate what you've done for me."

"I'm just glad I didn't have to lock you up…and again, I'm sorry for your loss."


	14. Chapter 14

Adam strode to the hotel; he had left instructions for any answer to his wire to be delivered to him at the Ponderosa; he planned to stay there with Madeline. It would be easier for the five of them, including Hop Sing, to keep an eye on her. Adam had considered what Madeline had said about possibly seducing Joe or his father but she hadn't done it and he doubted she would. He knew she'd told him to get back at him in some small way, whatever way she could.

The Ponderosa would be Madeline's jail; he knew in just what room he would lock her. It was the room in the attic; it was small and had never being occupied by anyone. All it contained was the bed Hoss had slept in until he hit 14 years old and 6 feet tall, a small chest of childhood books, a wash stand without the china pieces and a wooden chair. Various old quilts were stacked on the bed and a crate of discarded baby clothes was in the corner. Madeline could stay there all day and all night for all Adam cared and pound callouses on her tender fists—no one would hear her from the top of the house. There was also a steep drop to the ground from the room's one narrow window; the attic at the Ponderosa was higher than the one at his house since the ceiling of the great room rose higher with strong beams supporting it.

In the hotel lobby, waiting for Adam to return. Ben sat awkwardly on a large ottoman with Madeline. He was glad that so few people passed through the lobby. It wasn't yet lunch and as he held his hat in his hands, he was grateful for that. People in town often stopped by the hotel restaurant for a fine meal and they would assume that Madeline was Ben's daughter-in-law and stop to pass the time. It could become more than merely awkward. Would Madeline answer that no, she wasn't Mrs. Cartwright—Mrs. Cartwright was dead? Ben didn't know what he would say then, how he would answer the natural questions and respond to proffered condolences; it wasn't his place—it was Adam's. Ben wondered, once Marjorie's coffin arrived, how Adam would go about informing everyone. The whole thing had become so convoluted; it amazed him that a simple act such as tracking down an estranged sister could lead to such a calamitous result. And it wasn't yet over.

People would be scandalized. How they would delightfully converge and discuss the fact the Adam Cartwright had been living as husband and wife with his sister-in-law; even their domestic help had been fooled. No wonder that woman had avoided meeting with the ladies of the Women's Auxiliary; they would have known she was an imposter immediately! Oh, how the women would enjoy gossiping about the switched identities and then, once it was known, the murders—it would be fodder for months.

 _"_ _Why do you think Adam Cartwright kept his wife's death such a secret?"_

 _"_ _I assume he didn't know although how a man couldn't recognize in wife in their marriage bed… Perhaps he had been duped into believing it was his wife; they're supposed to be identical twins."_

 _"_ _Not Adam Cartwright—he couldn't have been fooled. He's too smart for that!"_

 _"_ _Maybe, maybe not. Besides, a man believes what he wants to believe."_

 _"_ _Well, what if he knew his wife was dead and just didn't want an empty bed…"_

 _"_ _You don't mean to suggest that he knew was with his wife's sister while poor Marjorie…"_

 _"_ _I'm just saying that if a woman is willing…men don't like to be denied and she is a beautiful woman. I saw her at the dressmaker's and I remarked to myself that she looked unusually lovely that day—I think she's even more beautiful than poor Marjorie was."_

 _"_ _Yes, poor Marjorie. Oh, wouldn't she be appalled at what Adam has done! Appalled! May she rest in peace."_

 _"_ _Knowing what her husband did with her sister, well, I doubt the poor child can rest in her grave at al_ l."

Ben looked up, relieved when Adam returned. He stood up but Madeline still sat focusing on the distant wallpaper. She looked the picture of calm but she was in turmoil. Adam hated her, that she knew and she didn't blame him. After all, she had fooled him into thinking she was his wife, her sister, but not for very long. Madeline was certain just where she went wrong, just what act was so out of character for Marjorie that afterwards, Adam knew. Marjorie would never have been so subordinate. And it was after that he changed; Madeline immediately sensed it and she had wondered while she lay in Adam's arms, just what he was planning. It was a bittersweet moment for her as she had been happy in his embrace, calm and secure but the whole time her plan was collapsing. Yes, she thought—secure, free from worry. And now the worst was yet to come and it was all her own fault that she was going to have to pay—and if Adam had any say, jailed.

"Adam," Ben asking, rising, "did everything go all right—at the telegraph office?"

"Yes. I watched while he sent it. Do you want to grab some lunch or head back?"

"I could use a bite. Mar—Miss Purl, what about you?"

"Please, call me Madeline—if it's easier for you. I would like a cup of tea, perhaps a little something."

"Fine." Ben graciously put out his arm for Madeline to take. They were about to go to the restaurant when the clerk form the telegraph office rushed in. "Well, that was fast," Ben said more to himself than anyone else.

"Adam, this came no more'n two minutes after you left. Here."

"Thanks, Willie." Adam took the envelope and opened it. He read the wire once and then read it again aloud. "Mistake in identity. Believed Mrs. Cartwright is dead. Madeline Purl in V.C. Please detain for Balt PD. Further directive coming. Stratford"

"Perhaps we should leave," Ben suggested.

"Yes," Madeline said, her voice and gaze dropping.

Adam helped Madeline up to the buggy seat and for a moment, Madeline considered reaching for the reins. It wasn't Adam she wanted to escape, it wasn't even really the Baltimore Police, but if they took her back to Baltimore, they would be taking her back to Markham and he had great influence. But Madeline saw no way she could run.

Adam started to go around the buggy but stopped, preventing his father from climbing up. "I'd like for the two of us to stay at the Ponderosa until the coffins and the police arrive. It'll be easier to keep Madeline corralled with five people watching her, not that I know she would try to run away, but I want to avoid the possibility. I think she should 'stay' in the attic room."

"The attic room? I suppose she could but it needs airing—dusting. No one's ever stayed up there."

"I think it'll be the best place. Have Hop Sing make it acceptable for 'our guest' while I go to Carson City. I need to find out exactly what's happened." Adam climbed up to the driver's seat and Ben, after some huffing and indecision, climbed up and the three rode in silence to the Ponderosa.

~ 0 ~

"So," Adam said as he sat in Stratford's office, "I suspected as much. I confronted Madeline and she admitted it. I tried to have her arrested for fraud but, well, I knew I had no legal grounds. Shame that deviousness isn't a crime."

"I am sorry, Adam. If I can offer you any legal advice…"

"You let them know Madeline was here?"

"Yes. I think, well, you and I had talked about Thaddeus Markham, about his being influential in Baltimore and I have no idea about graft in their police department. Keep Madeline someplace safe and my suggestion is that you not advertise who she is. I think, for the time being, that you not tell anyone your wife has died. Let them think she's Mrs. Cartwright—as painful as that may be, having her around and looking so much..."

"Yeah," Adam said, standing up, holding his hat. "I think it's best no one else knows but once the bodies arrive I'm having a funeral for my wife. I won't postpone it."

"All right. I would suggest you tell the sheriff in your town to watch for strangers."

Adam smirked. "Yes. He's always such a big help."

On the ride home, Adam went over again the information the chief detective on the case had sent to Stratford to convey to him. It seemed the desk clerk at Barnum's had related that Mrs. Cartwright was Mrs. Marsh's sister. When she registered, she had smiled at his confusion; they did look alike, he swore. Although Mrs. Cartwright's belongings were gone from her hotel room, she had never checked out of the hotel or returned the key. That had started the police wondering if they had a case of confused identities. Specific friends of Mrs. Marsh's were questioned, one of them being Thaddeus Markham who, when he saw the body of the deceased woman, was upset. He claimed that a mistake had been made—he knew Mrs. Marsh, had known her for a few years and she was never such a thin, underfed thing. The dead woman wasn't Mrs. Marsh. He had asked the police where Mrs. Marsh was but they had withheld any information which seemed to infuriate him. Nevertheless, he suppressed his rage and maintained an air of dignity. Stratford was warned that Mr. Markham was a suspect in a bribery/extortion scheme involving a high government official and had been asked to remain in Baltimore. They had intended to subpoena Mrs. Marsh as a witness if her identity could be verified.

 _So that's why Madeline ran—fear. But I can't forgive her—she owed Marjorie something more than abandonment in a Baltimore hotel room. And she should have told me who she was. If she had come for help, I would have understood and helped her. Markham wouldn't have found her._

But Adam wasn't sure. Markham might have easily found her. But still…she had deceived him, used him-and made him love her. Adam pulled up his horse who stopped and tossed his head, prancing in place, eager to continue. Adam admitted he did love Madeline—and his fear was that he loved her more than he had Margie. And he didn't want to face it. But he knew he would have to…eventually.

~ 0 ~

When Adam returned, he was ready for dinner but as he had anticipated, his brothers wanted to offer their condolences.

Earlier, as soon as they arrived home for the day, their father had explained the situation to Joe and Hoss as succinctly as he could, clearing up why Madeline was up in the attic room. But both Joe and Hoss had more questions. Just how had Marjorie died? And weren't they doing anything about it? How was Adam taking it? Wasn't there anything else they could do but wait for the Baltimore police to act?

"Don't ask me anything more!" Ben said throwing up his hands. "Ask your brother when he gets home. He's the one who blames Marjorie's sister for what happened. Don't ask me anything else—I haven't figured the whole thing out yet myself." Ben turned his back on his sons and went to his desk to keep himself busy—or at least to look as if he was. He would start on payroll so he pulled out the ledger and his pen and flipped open the crystal inkwell that stood proudly on his desk, his initials engraved on the silver lid. It had been a gift from Marie and now Ben looked at it and noticed the glow that came from the incised cuts into the clear material. It was as though it was one magnificent diamond filled with darkness—the India ink.

Hoss stood with his hands on his hips and Joe stood beside him, unsatisfied with their father's explanation.

"I can't believe that it wasn't Marjorie who came back. She fooled me completely," Joe said. "But, I know it's going to sound odd, but I'm relieved in a way. I mean, I told you about the buggy ride and how she…well, I'm just glad to know it wasn't Marjorie but about her being dead…damn!" Joe looked up as if he could see the attic room.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Hoss said. "Makes you wonder 'bout what's real and what's not—makes you kinda doubt the world."

Joe scoffed. "Now don't you turn into a philosopher."

"Joe, you think that Adam and Madeline…well, yeah, I guess he would've iffen he thought she was his wife. Well, I'll be damned. No wonder he's so…"

"Yeah," Joe said, "I think so too. My guess is oldest brother is disgusted with himself and he can't bear having her around because she knows she fooled him. He probably even told her he loved her. If I know oldest brother, he's imagining she's laughing at him, laughing at fooling him and at all his love talk and he can't stand that."

Hoss clapped Joe on the shoulder. "You're smarter than I done give you credit for, shortshanks. I bet you're right!"


	15. Chapter 15

When Adam returned from Carson City, Hoss and Joe attempted to offer their condolences, tried to convey their feelings but Adam seemed non-receptive.

"Adam," Hoss said. "I don't know how to say what I feel but I'll go with you to Baltimore iffen you want."

"You don't have to say anything—there's nothing to say. And, the bodies are on their way here—should be here in a few days." Adam sighed. "I'm keeping Madeline here for the Baltimore police. That's why she's locked upstairs, so she won't take off."

"You think Madeline killed her sister?" Joe asked.

"I'm not sure." Adam shook his head in frustration. "But even if she's innocent, she knows who did kill… after all, whoever it was wanted to kill her. It appears to be a case of mistaken identity—one big goddamn mistake."

"So you just gonna leave Madeline locked up there until…when? The next few days? New Year's?" Hoss asked. He didn't like seeing Madeline treated that way even though Ben had explained that Adam was afraid Madeline would run off and that the Baltimore police would surely want to talk to her. After all, she had left Baltimore. But Hoss still found it cruel and he didn't think he could bear to be confined himself.

"I need her to be here until they take custody; she can't be trusted." Adam said.

"I'm guessing you blame her for…" Hoss took a breath. No one had mentioned Marjorie's name but talked around her. "She didn't kill her sister, Adam."

Adam looked down. "So she claims, but how do I know—how does anyone know? Besides, Stratford said to make certain that she doesn't leave and so did Roy—so I am."

"By lockin' 'er in that room like some Rapunzel."

"What the hell are you talking about? Fairy tales? Trust me, she's no princess and don't you go playing rescuing prince and let her out."

"You know what I think?" Joe asked.

"No, and I don't care to know."

"I think you don't like that she fooled you for a few days."

Adam pushed past Joe to the table. Joe's sally had hit home.

"I bet you were glad to see your 'wife' home, weren't you?" Joe asked knowingly.

"Shut up," Adam said in a low voice.

The conversation stopped there when Hop Sing brought out a platter of roast beef, scowling. Adam told Hop Sing how much he missed his cooking; Mrs. Hardesty was a good cook, he said, but paled when compared to him. Hop Sing basked in the compliments; the "insult" he had received was partially smoothed over. He felt offended that the woman in the attic had refused his food.

"Missy say she not hungry. Not come to dinner but stay in room."

"Well, that's her choice," Adam said as he forked slices of sliced roast beef from the platter.

"But lady need eat." Hop Sing glowered. "You expect to starve? Not care who she is-still need eat."

"Fine, I'll take her a plate of food." Adam proceeded to pick up the plate where Hop Sing had intended Madeline to sit and placed on it roast beef, potatoes and peas and poured gravy over everything. Then he placed a biscuit in the middle. He held it out for Hop Sing to see. "I'll take her this."

Ben folded his hands together as if in prayer and rested his forehead on them. Joe and Hoss ducked their heads slightly and looked at one another questioningly.

Adam took the plate up to Madeline and Ben told Joe and Hoss wait to start the meal.

"If Adam weren't such a hard-headed…" Hoss caught his father's disapproving look. "Well, we gotta wait just because he wants to play jailer."

"Your brother's been through a lot. His wife is dead and he was even cheated out of grieving properly. Can you imagine how he feels, thinking…she… was alive and home with him and it wasn't her?"

Hoss looked down. He hadn't really considered the situation from Adam's viewpoint.

"Yeah," Joe said. "I guess when all this is over, everything's gonna come down on him like a felled tree."

They heard Adam's foot on the stairs and so they hushed. When Adam took his place at table, Ben was going to ask about Madeline but decided not to; it could wait.

After his family was in bed, Adam sat in the familiar blue chair watching the flames dance about; it was hypnotic. In his younger days, he had spent hours in that chair reading, plucking out tunes on his guitar, laughing, talking and just daydreaming. But tonight he felt like a stranger in his family home. So much had happened and it occurred to Adam that maybe he was a stranger to himself. He had always felt, as the Oracle at Delphi stated, that he knew himself. But he wasn't certain anymore for his feelings were unnatural to him. Adam knew what he should feel, what normal people felt but he didn't feel that way. Had war changed him that much? Or had he always been dead to his deepest feelings? Was he that unusual?

He thought back to Madeline up in the small attic room and how she had looked when he took the dinner to her. He had knocked lightly and walked in.

"My jailer is back," Madeline said. "You've brought me food? Is it my last meal?" She rose from the bed where she was sitting and put down the book she had been reading.

Adam wordlessly placed the plate on the bed.

"No drink? No hemlock? You should at least give me the chance to snuff out my own life with a modicum of dignity."

"Don't. You're alive, remember that. Marjorie died in your place and you dare to make a joke? To treat it so lightly? I've seen enough of death to know how ugly it is, how it takes a person who was alive with emotions and hopes and desires, and makes them a senseless corpse of rotting flesh. I've seen young men blown apart by cannonballs, run through the gut with bayonets, and watched soldiers try to crawl back to safety with arms and legs missing only to bleed out as they struggled." Adam turned to leave.

"I'm sorry…I…"

Adam's voice dropped. "Have you even cried for her?"

Madeline looked at him and defiantly raised her jaw, but Adam noticed the glimmer of tears in her eyes. Her eyes were a deep blue. He couldn't remember Marjorie's eyes. Had they been the same color? They had been blue—he knew that—but as for the exact color…he didn't know. His heart thudded. Had he forgotten his wife so quickly, so easily?

"It's none of your business if I cried or how I feel. None of your business at all. And what about yourself? Have you cried over her or are you too busy hating me to think of anything else?" She waited, barely breathing. Madeline expected him to slap her. She decided to push Adam one more step. "Or you were thrilled that your wife came back to you with open arms and a welcoming body?"

Although his hand itched to strike her, he didn't. Adam became aware of his body responding beyond his control. He admitted to himself that he had been exultant with Madeline in his bed those first few days; she had thrilled him and seemed devoted to him, something he thought he was too evolved to need—but he did; he had always wanted to be loved the most, put first and to Marjorie, he came second. But unfortunately, Madeline had been somehow aware of his need and exploited it.

And Madeline was experienced enough in the ways of men to recognize the change in Adam's face and what it meant, the rise in his respiration and the subtle shift of stance. She swayed closer to him, taking in his scent, allowing him to feel the heat between them. "What do you want to do, Adam? Do you want to hurt me or do you want to take me? Treat me as your love again? Kiss me as you did? You can, you know. I do care…I mean I know that I shouldn't feel this way and after all that's…"

Adam took a deep shaky breath and pulled himself away from her. He stalked out and closed the door and Madeline heard the key turn in the lock. And she felt such loneliness after he left that she sunk on the floor and cried in desolation.


	16. Chapter 16

The heat of desire stayed with Adam and as he sat beside the fireplace, he fought the urge to go to Madeline's room, to gently caress her beautiful face and kiss her. He kept reminding himself that she was his dead wife's sister; he couldn't love her—he didn't love her. What he felt was just naked lust that he was mistaking for love—they weren't the same thing, he kept reminding himself.

"Adam?"

Adam swung around and saw his father standing behind him.

"You shouldn't sneak up on me like that, Pa."

"Sorry." Ben sat down on the settee. "It's late. You going to try to sleep at all tonight?"

"Madeline has murdered sleep." Adam noticed the quizzical look his father gave him. "It's a weak attempt at levity. 'Macbeth hath murdered sleep'. Macbeth can't sleep anymore after murdering the king and…it was just a comment. I was trying to be flippant. Sorry. There's no humor in any of this. It's all so pathetically sad." Adam softly laughed but his throat closed with emotion; tears stung his eyes.

Ben's voice dropped. "Have you wept yet?" Adam shook his head but said nothing; he just stared into the flames. "Have you talked to anyone?" Ben suggested.

Adam smirked. "I've done nothing but talk—to Roy, to Stratford, to you—Hoss, Joe, Hop Sing. I've talked and talked about it but what I want is to do something about it and I can't. I just feel—powerless."

"I meant, have you talked to anyone about the way you feel?"

"I just did. Did you not understand?"

Ben sighed. "I meant about losing your wife—about losing Madeline."

Adam stared for a moment and then looked away. "No."

"I'm here to listen if you want to talk."

"I don't."

"It helps, Adam. It helps put things in perspective."

Father and son sat in silence for few moments and then Adam spoke quietly but he kept his eyes on the dancing flames, noting the colors and how they changed—the hottest sections were blue, the color of blood running through a body—the blue vein that had pulsed on the right side of Madeline's temple.

"When Inger died, I cried," Adam said. "I wanted her back to take care of me; she had ended my loneliness, and at her grave when you stood there and cried, it frightened me. You were the strongest person I knew, the person on whom my whole life depended and you were crying—so I saw you as weak. I wanted to hide my face so I couldn't see you in your grief. I swore then that I was never going to marry, never going to have a wife or children if they could reduce someone like you to such a ridiculous spectacle. But then, as I got older and read more and saw more people suffer loss, I understood it. I decided that we grieve selfishly, for ourselves like I did over losing Inger. We wish they weren't goner for our own selfish needs. And I understood.

"And then Marie died and you sobbed like a small child and I was embarrassed for you. Your grief blotted out everything else and I tried to keep my distance at the gravesite but remember how you grabbed me and hugged me, sobbing?" Adam turned to look at his father who was evenly watching him.

"Yes. I know I may have depended on you too much but you were 16—almost a grown man."

"I know. But at that moment, with everyone way watching us, I wanted to push you away from me, t put distance between us. I avoided the house for a week, remember? I spent all my time out on the property, checking line and staying in the line shacks."

"I thought that was your way of grieving Marie's death."

"No. It was my way of trying to come to terms with what a man should feel, do, when his wife dies. And I remember wondering how you would behave if I died, or Hoss or Joe. And I wondered how I would behave and why I didn't feel such an immense loss with Marie's passing. But on the battlefield, when my men were dying, when they were bleeding out in my arms, then I felt anger and sorrow but I was determined to stay strong for them and I did. I felt that's what a man does. And now I don't know what I should feel and what I should do. Shouldn't I wail and gnash my teeth at losing Marjorie? Shouldn't my heart be broken? Shouldn't my life be devastated?" Adam leaned forward in his chair. "I loved her, Pa. Marjorie was my wife and now she's dead and I haven't shed a single tear. Hell, if it weren't for her resemblance to Madeline, I don't know that I would even remember what she looked like." Adam fell back into the chair. "I must be some type of monster not to feel more."

Ben waited. What Adam had said was unexpected—he had no idea that Adam had felt the way he did about the losses of Inger and Marie or how Ben had reacted to them. "Give yourself time, Adam." He paused. "Perhaps you and Madeline can grieve together."

Ben was startled when Adam laughed but without humor. '"Grieve together? If you only knew how ridiculous that is! The only things Madeline and I have done together are better not mentioned…you would be appalled."

"So that's it? I understand now why you hate Madeline so." Ben stood up and Adam looked up at him. "You enjoyed her and now have feelings for Madeline. She was more the wife you wanted, the wife you needed than Marjorie was and so you hate her—you blame her for your feelings, don't you? Is it her fault, Adam? Maybe you should show her some kindness, some understanding. Why don't you think about that?"

Ben held onto the bannister as he wearily took the stairs. He felt he had failed his son somehow as the boy was growing up. Or maybe he was a poor example of what a man should be if he was felled by such grief. Ben acknowledged that his grief had been selfish; he had thought only of himself and not his sons who had been watching his example. But there was nothing to be done now. Years can't be reeled back in and relived. But ah, Ben thought, if only they could.

 **~ 0 ~**

Except for the minister, it was just the four Cartwrights, Hop Sing and Madeline at the graveside when Marjorie and Pauline were buried; Adam hadn't wanted anyone else there, didn't want to see weeping women and uncomfortable men standing about the grave, offering their condolences. Marjorie was interred beside her parents' graves and Pauline was buried in another part of the cemetery before Marjorie's ceremony.

Adam and Madeline stood by Pauline's grave and when the coffin was lowered into the grave, Madeline began to cry. Adam glanced at her as she wiped her eyes and quietly cried but he never touched her, just stepped behind her while the minister said a prayer. Then Madeline bent down and scooped up a handful of earth and tossed it on top of the coffin. Adam wondered why she hadn't removed her glove as the pristine white glove was now soiled with the moist dirt.

Afterwards, Adam took Madeline's arm and none too gently led her over to the area where Marjorie waited to be buried, where his family waited. Madeline had lost even more weight and wore a dark blue dress of Marjorie's—a dress so dark it looked black. A small hat with a veil made the mourning outfit complete.

When the coffins first arrived at the Carson City depot, Adam had to not only sign the papers and pay for their coffins and their transportation, but identify the bodies; it had never been properly done as no one could determine if the body was Madeline Mason or her sister who had checked into the hotel and from all accounts, the two women were identical; the housekeeping staff identified Pauline but it was still a formality for her employer to do so as well for finality. For that reason, Adam had brought Madeline along to Carson City but she had tried to avoid it.

"But why do I have to go? You know what…my sister, what Marjorie looked like. I can't look at a…body."

"You have to identify your maid. I have no idea what she looks like."

"I…I can tell you. I can describe her to you and you can…you'll know if it's her or not."

Adam snorted. "You are a coward, aren't you, Madeline—only thinking of saving yourself? Get dressed. You're coming. And if you're wise, you won't raise any more objections or give me any trouble."

So Madeline had sat quietly beside him on the buggy ride to Carson City. The two pine coffins were taken off the train and placed in a small room off the depot master's office. The Baltimore undertaker's assistant who had accompanied the coffins, asked them their relationship with the deceased and Adam explained. The man opened first Pauline's coffin and the unpleasant odor hit them. Madeline backed off but Adam grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

"Look. Is it your maid?" Adam asked. He felt her recoil but forced her to look.

"Ma'am," the undertaker's assistant said. "Can you identify the body as Miss Pauline Worthington?"

Madeline peeked inside and her gorge rose at the sight of the body that had lain in the coffin for close to two weeks; she had not been embalmed and Madeline quickly looked aside and whispered, "Yes." The undertaker then closed it and began to hammer it down for final burial. Madeline swayed and Adam grabbed her around the waist.

"If you faint, I swear I'll leave you on the floor."

Madeline breathed deeply and then stood up. Adam held her wrist.

Adam prepared himself for viewing Marjorie. The lid of the 6-sided pine coffin was almost off when Adam released Madeline. "Go stand over there."

The undertaker looked up. "This body's been embalmed; someone paid for it anonymously. She looks as beautiful as the day she died, sir."

Adam looked at Madeline who was still by his side. "Go ahead. Step over there."

Madeline quietly stepped away and turned her back. She heard Adam say that it was Marjorie. And she took a shuddering breath as the coffin lid was again hammered down.

The Virginia City undertaker had transferred the two bodies in finer coffins than the original pine boxes. They were of polished maple with brass handles and Adam had chosen a granite marker for Pauline and a headstone of Carrera marble for Marjorie; he had paid extra for the engraver to put other jobs aside in order to chisel her name and birth along with "Beloved Wife and Daughter" on the surface in time for the funeral.

When Marjorie's body was lowered into the grave, first Adam and then each person threw a handful of dirt on the coffin. Madeline listened to the sounds and when it was her turn, she bent down but instead of scooping up dirt, she dropped to her knees and burst into sobs.

"Oh, Marjorie, I'm so sorry!" she cried as tears choked her. "I was supposed to take care of you and I let you be killed! It should have been me, it should have been me…oh, Marjorie…" Madeline hid her face in her hands and Adam watched while her shoulders shook with the wracking sobs that seemed to be ripped from the depths of her soul.

"Adam," Ben said quietly. Hoss had started to lift Madeline from the ground but Ben had put out a hand to stop him.

Adam looked at his father and then down at Madeline; he knew her grief was sincere, her guilt almost palpable. He bent down and gently lifted Madeline to her feet and pulled her into his arms, not saying anything, just letting her sob against his chest. And with his arm about her still, he led her to the buggy.

"What do you think, Pa?" Joe asked as they watched Adam and Madeline walk away.

"What do you mean? Think about what?" Ben was hoping to avoid the whole matter.

"'Bout Adam and Madeline," Hoss added.

"I don't know. I've found to not judge a situation until you know all of it."

Ben headed to the buggy and Joe and Hoss and Hop Sing watched, then followed him at a short distance.

"I wonder what's going to happen now," Joe said. "This whole thing has me all confused. I wish we could go have a beer. I sure could use one."

"One?" Hoss asked. "I'd have Charlie set me up a good half dozen." Joe clapped Hoss on his back and put an arm around Hop Sing. The three walked on. "What do they do In China after someone dies?" Hoss asked the Chinese man who had worn his best clothes for the funeral.

"Eat. Everyone bring food and people eat. In China, eating bring good luck. Hop Sing cook much food and we eat."

"Sounds like the best way to feel better," Hoss said and Joe just chuckled.


	17. Chapter 17

Adam knocked on the attic bedroom door and waited. There was no answer, no calling out from inside. He knocked again. "Madeline? May I come in?" He looked at the key in his hand. Before he would only rap on the door once and then unlock it not caring what Madeline was doing, even if she was taking care of private matters, but after the funeral, he had chosen to allow her more control over her "imprisonment." He heard her voice from behind the door.

"Yes, I suppose. You have the key."

Adam unlocked the door. Madeline's eyes were still swollen from crying. She had been inconsolable and sincerely bereft. Hoss had driven the surrey home after the funeral and Hop Sing had sat up on the seat with Joe and Hoss –a tight fit-while Madeline sat between Adam and Ben. She laid her head against Adam's chest and he held her but looked out at the passing scenery as if having a weeping woman in his arms was nothing unusual. But Adam was trying to keep his own sadness at bay. Marjorie deserved better than what he had done, what he had felt and he thought back to seeing his father at both Inger's and Marie's graves. _That's how I should have behaved. I should have been as moved, felt such intense loss that I should have cried, wept and cried out her name. But all I could see was Madeline and her abject grief, Madeline and her vulnerability and I regretted my cruelty._

"What is it?" Madeline asked. She sat up as she had been lying on the bed in her chemise and slips, the dark blue dress tossed over the chest.

"Why don't you get dressed and come down for dinner?" He waited. He walked a few steps and placed the key to the room on the washstand.

"What's this?" Madeline asked. "Are you giving the prisoner the key to the prison? Am I to be shot while escaping?"

"Do you want to come downstairs to dinner or not? Just answer yes or no?" He tried to keep from looking at her in the thin linen undergarment she wore; he focused on the delicate lace edging the piece. Images of ravishing Madeline, memories of her body and its curves and recesses began to heat his blood. The taste of her mouth almost burned on his tongue and the scent of her skin filled his head and wouldn't leave. "Your choice." Adam said. He had to leave her—for his own salvation—so he did. Madeline wondered what had caused the sudden change in Adam's attitude. She credited it to his family—in particular his father.

 _He would have never come to this on his own. Despite his kindness at the graveside, he still detests me because I'm alive and Marjorie isn't, because he thinks I made a fool of him. But I deserve it; I should have told him—told them all when I arrived who I was. Things would be so different now. But Marjorie and Pauline would still be dead and I would still be alive and Adam would still hate me for that. If for nothing else, he would hate me for that._

Madeline rose from the bed and looked at herself in the washstand mirror. She observed the shadows under her eyes, her swollen and puffy face. Her hair had tumbled down but then she hadn't had adequate pins to really do an up-do justice. Nevertheless, she decided she would go down and join the Cartwrights. She pulled her corset strings tight again and then pulled the dress over her and reached behind her to hook it, her fingers fumbling. She felt heavy, as if lead weights pulled her down and realized she was tired. She remembered that Pauline would always hook up a dress quickly while she chatted away. Pauline had been a happy person and now…Madeline changed her thoughts. She shouldn't think about things like that. She remembered what Hop Sing had said to her when they had returned to the Ponderosa and he walked beside her to the house.

"Grief like drawer that one opens, take a look and put back away. That what Mistah Adam need do—what you need do."

Madeline picked up the comb on the washstand and attempted to fix her hair. She smiled wanly at her reflection. There was nothing to be done. She sighed and went out, taking first the narrow attic stairs to the second floor of the house. She stopped and listened at the landing before descending; she heard their conversation and although she felt a slight twinge at eavesdropping, she still did. After all, she had done worse.

"She hasn't come down yet. You did invite her—in a welcoming way—didn't you, Adam?"

"Pa, I invited her—told her she was welcome to join us. I even left the key with her. Don't ask me to do more."

Hop Sing came out with a platter of baked potatoes. "I take food up to Missy. I…" His face broke into a smile and the Cartwrights turned to where he was looking. Madeline was coming down the stairs. All four men rose and Hop Sing quickly placed the platter down. He hurried across the great room and nodded slightly at her.

"Hop Sing glad Missy come down. Set place at table."

"Thank you," Madeline said and Hop Sing escorted her to the table where Ben, Hoss and Joe smiled and Ben welcomed her. Adam remained silent but his pulse stepped up when she sat down.

"Now that we have a guest at the table, let us say grace again." Ben put out his hands on both sides and Hoss and Joe held their father's hand and put out their own hands. It took Madeline a second to realize that the family was joining hands to pray but then she took Joe's hand on one side and put out her hand for Adam to take.

For some reason, Adam never cared for the joining of hands; it struck him as an invasion of privacy, and once when he was younger, he had said that he didn't care to hold Joe's or Hoss' hand because he had just washed his and he didn't know if Joe or Hoss had just picked their noses or scratched their asses. So for a moment, he paused and then Hoss looked at him expectantly, his hand out, waiting. With a sigh of defeat, Adam took Hoss' large hand and then, in the other, he took Madeline's; the difference in size and weight amazed him and he realized how incredibly vulnerable Madeline was, how easily her body could be broken and her white throat squeezed by hands as large as his or Hoss' or her delicate neck snapped. Suddenly he no longer blamed her for her fear, for her desire to save herself. And he reassuringly pressed her hand. She glanced at him under her lowered lashes but his head was bowed as they listened to Ben Cartwright, his deep voice thanking God for his bounty.

~ 0 ~

She could hear Adam pacing in his room. Madeline, at Ben's insistence, had moved back into the room she had chosen for herself the first night she had arrived at the Ponderosa; it was across from the one Adam and Marjorie had shared. When she had stepped out into the hall, she could see a shadow pass back and forth under Adam's bedroom door. Madeline wondered what was keeping him awake and restless; was it grief? Was it hate? Or was he planning some evil to befall her? Once Madeline had seen a black panther in a cage. Her parents had taken her and Marjorie to a visiting circus and the sleek animal with the shiny, lustrous coat was in a cage no larger than 15 x 8 feet. It had paced back and forth, rapidly and nervously, it's glowing yellow eyes sizing up the people who stared and the young men who tossed peanuts at it through the safety of the bars. But she was with those who admired the pent-up grace and its unfulfilled hunger for the blood of its captors and tormentors. Even as a child Madeline realized the feeling of confinement the animal felt, the panic, the sense of strangulation when penned in. Knowing Adam was the same, that he was pacing the floor of his room, battling his confinement, she couldn't help but compare him to the panther—both of them with a secret behind their eyes and knowledge that in their present situations, they couldn't strike out, couldn't rip their enemies to pieces—but also ready to take advantage of the situation if and when available.

Unable to sleep, Marjorie had decided she would go to the kitchen and heat a mug of milk so passing Adam's room, she quietly padded on bare feet down the stairs.. She knew the kitchen would be clean—Hop Sing would have left it spotless after the evening meal. She lit the lamp in the kitchen. It wasn't difficult to pull it down from the ceiling as Hop Sing wasn't much taller than she and on her tip-toes, she could hook a finger through the ring at the bottom and pulling it down, strike a kitchen match and light it. Then she released it and the kitchen was lit in a warm glow.

Soon, she was sitting at the round, wooden, kitchen table, sipping the hot milk in its thick-walled china mug and fighting the urge to fetch a bottle of whiskey and lace it with the golden liquid. Then she smiled to herself; the cupboard was probably locked. Although Adam had freed her from her attic prison, she knew he didn't trust her. Perhaps though, he was testing her. Madeline wasn't sure—she was never sure where Adam was concerned.

A shadow fell across the table and Madeline looked behind her.

"Oh, Hoss. You surprised me."

"You done surprised me. I just came down for another piece of that maple cake Hop Sing made. You mind iffen I join you?"

"No. No, I don't mind. There's some hot milk in that small pot on the stove—if you want it. I couldn't sleep."

"Thanks but I'll just have a glass of cool milk." Hoss held a knife over the cake and looked at Madeline. "You want a piece of this?"

"No, no thank you."

Hoss smiled and then brought the remainder of the cake to the table along with a fork. "I guess I'll just finish it off then." He opened the lid of the milk crock and ladled himself a tall glass. He sat back down at the table and proceeded to eat the reminder of the cake, washing it down with the milk.

"I couldn't sleep neither," Hoss said between bites. "This cake kept calling upstairs to me so I had to answer." He took another bite while Madeline smiled and sipped her milk. "But I understand why you and Adam both can't sleep. It was a hard day and Adam, well, he don't take some things as well as others might think. See, I got a theory about him."

"Oh? A theory?" Her interest was piqued.

"See, Adam, well, he's from a long line of Irish Protestants—that's what Pa told me, and a line of sea-faring men. See, his grandfather, Abel Stoddard, well, he had a strong sense of morality. Pa says that all those New England people do—it's in their blood. They came from the old country to get away from the Pope—something like that. I don't have a head for different types of religions, can't see why people don't just agree that there's a God and leave things at that. But anyway, they got this thing about sin and how people need to be punished for their sins and if it don't come from the outside, well, they punish themselves."

"So Adam punishes himself?"

"All the time. Why one time—I guess Adam was about 15 cause I 'member I was in…must've been in the second year at school. See Adam was in charge of me, taking me to school and bringin' me home with him 'cause Pa felt I was too young to ride all that way alone. Well, anyway, Adam snuck off for the day. Most all the others boys his age had already left school after 8th year and he wanted to go fishin' with some of them. So after takin' me to school, he took off. He wasn't back in time and so I left for home and got lost and they didn't find me none till late at night; I was 'bout half-starved but that was all. Pa was so upset he didn't speak to Adam—said he was afraid what he would say, what he would do so he didn't even punish Adam. At the time I wondered why but now I think that Pa knew he didn't have to, just let Adam punish himself."

"Did he?"

"Sure did—didn't eat the whole next day—not even the lunch Hop Sing packed for us. He apologized to me on the way to school and when we got home, Adam took care of his chores and then some. He chopped enough firewood to last a month, mucked out all the stalls and wouldn't come down for dinner. Pa went up afterwards to talk to Adam but neither one of them said no more about it—just went on."

"I see."

"Yeah, Adam's problem id he thinks too much and that ain't healthy. Ol' Adam, he's just too smart for his own good." Hiss continued to finish the cake.

"He's never said it, but he loved my sister, didn't he?"

"I think so. He seemed to. But sometimes it's hard to tell with Adam how he feels about anyone lessen he comes right out and tells you. Usually it's how he treats you but you gotta know him. Like Joe, Adam and me, we teased each other somethin' awful growin' up but it was a way for us to show, well, that we loved each other. But I guess that fact that he married Marjorie and let her do what she wanted, to be in all those groups that do good for others, well, I think that shows he loved her. And I'm sure he told Marjorie he did—a husband just does that. A wife expects it, I would think."

"Yes," Madeline said looking at the skin forming over the milk. "A wife would expect that."

"Well," Hoss said after finishing the cake and draining his glass of milk, "I think I'm goin' up to bed now. Best be you do too."

"Yes, I will. Goodnight, Hoss."

Madeline sat for a few moments more. She stuck a finger in the mug and pushed the skin on the milk and it curled to one side. She sighed and then turned out the light, leaving the mug on the table. She went upstairs but when she passed Adam's room, the light still glowed under his door. Madeline paused and considered. Then she lightly knocked on his door and waited. It opened and Adam stood in the doorway, the lamp light behind him. Again she was put in mind of the captive panther.

"May I talk to you for a moment?"

Adam said nothing but before Madeline could apologize for disturbing him and leaving, he stepped aside so that she could enter.

She had been in the room before to gather what she had needed her first night and now it seemed as if it had been years ago. She pulled her wrap closed at the neck and faced Adam. He was still wearing the clothes he had changed into after the burials, a red shirt and black dungarees but now the shirt was open a few buttons and he was barefoot, his hair disheveled, his face puffy. And she noticed his eyes were bloodshot; he had obviously been crying. Madeline caught the smell of whiskey and glancing behind him, she saw a glass and bottle, half-empty, standing on the vanity that had been Marjorie's. Marjorie had left a few combs and some hair pins sitting in a flowered china tray and everything was still there. Adam had yet to remove anything that had been his wife's and Madeline felt a chill run through her.

"What do you want?" Adam pushed the door shut.

"I think…forgiveness. I won't be here much longer…" She noticed he became alert, waiting to pounce on the next thing she said.

"I'm not thinking of running away, sneaking out in the middle of the night but I do expect the Baltimore police to take me back with them; you and Mr. Stratford emphasized that. I plan to be here when they come but as far as you…I want to apologize and I hope you can forgive me."

Adam chuckled but the sound was decidedly without humor. "Forgive you. Oh that's rich—damned rich. Forgive you for what specifically, Madeline?"

Madeline suddenly became afraid of him. Her mind swirled; she had made a mistake—she never should have gone to him. Now she had to get past him to the door.

"Do you want me to forgive you for saving your own skin? I can't fault you for that. Everyone wants to survive. Once, on the battlefield, I saw a private—about 18 or 19-push another man into the line of fire to save himself, one of his own ranks, another soldier who loved his life as much as much as he did but it didn't matter. We had all eaten together, slept next to each other, struggled through mud and rain and suffered the heat and cold together but it didn't matter—the soldier only wanted to save himself. So I shot him. I was the captain and when I saw what he had done, he turned to me wanting forgiveness, wanting me to tell him I understood and I aimed and shot him. He hadn't expected it but I wouldn't suffer such an act of cowardice. I often wonder if that was murder, what I did, but it doesn't matter. It's done. So what do you suggest, Madeline? That I strangle you? That I place my hands about your throat and squeeze the life out of you to even the score?"

Adam moved closer to her and Madeline couldn't decide what to do. She could scream and wake up the house but somehow, the fact that she went to his room—Adam hadn't gone to hers, wouldn't elicit any sympathy but she would at least be unharmed. She felt like a cornered animal and stepped back until the bed touched the back of her legs. Adam reached out and placed one hand on her neck.

"I wouldn't even need both hands—just one would do it—just pressure from my thumb—here."

Madeline felt his thumb press lightly into the hollow of her neck and stop her breath. He chuckled again and released her.

"Did I scare you, Madeline? Did your bowels turn to water? On the battlefield men literally shit their pants from fear; I came close a few times myself. What of it, Madeline? Do you still want forgiveness from me?"

She barely uttered the word. "Yes."

"Fine. I forgive you. I forgive you for welcoming me into your arms, for opening those smooth thighs of yours and pleasing me beyond what I've known since I was a young man. I forgive you for filling an empty spot in my soul and may God forgive me for sleeping with my wife's sister." Adam turned his back to her. "Now leave me—go to bed, pack your bags and sneak out. Oh, I found your money—your purse." He walked over to the chest of drawers and opened the top drawer and pulled out the leather bag. "Here." He tossed it to her. "I searched the room. I figured you had to have some money; you're certainly resourceful, Madeline. Very resourceful. Take it and go—go anywhere you want. I won't stop you and I won't look for you." Madeline decided Adam was very drunk because the next words out of his mouth surprised her. "But I will miss you."

Madeline clasped the leather bag to herself. "Thank you." She left Adam's room, her heart pounding. She was free! She could leave with Adam's blessings. She wouldn't have to answer for what she had done to anyone ever again and she had enough money to last her the rest of her life if she lived quietly. And she would. She closed her bedroom door and placed the leather bag on the mantle. She pulled the valise from the bottom of the wardrobe and placed it on the bed and with thumping heart, she began to pack. She would be gone by morning even if she had to walk to Carson City.


	18. Chapter 18

Adam slowly descended the stairs, his face puffy and his head pounding; he never liked to drink to excess—never liked to do anything in excess as it caused pain. In an architectural design class at college he had read about Aristotle's "golden mean," the desirable middle path between two extremes, and realized that it had been his philosophy his whole life—to take the middle way, nothing in excess. In architecture, it applied to beauty, a three part view of symmetry, proportion and harmony. A beautiful building needed all three attributes—and a woman did as well, at least in Adam's eyes. She had to be pleasing to the eyes, intelligent and light-hearted, easy to laugh and yet, know when gravitas was required.

He prepared himself for questions from his family: Did he know Madeline was gone? Did he know where she went? What was he going to tell the Baltimore police when they showed? But as he came down the last set of stairs he saw Madeline sitting at the breakfast table in her wrapper, quietly talking with his father. Two empty plates with remnants of syrup and flapjacks indicated that Hoss and Joe had eaten and gone.

His father saw him and looked up and Madeline turned her head to look at him.

"Well, it's about time," Ben said. "Hoss and Joe are already out with the hands branding." Taking in Adam's appearance, Ben added, "Nothing like sunlight and fresh air to clear a man's head."

Madeline dropped her eyes and continued to eat her plate of flapjacks; she had eaten very little so Adam presumed she hadn't been awake long either. Adam poured himself a cup of coffee and then sat at his place at the end of the table, a distance from Madeline; he had yet said anything.

"I'll get enough of sunshine but the fresh air? All I'll smell is cow and manure." He paused. "Good morning…Madeline."

She smiled and nodded and then looked at her plate again.

"Well, I think I'll start on those books before I join the round-up," Ben said, standing and placing his napkin beside his plate. "I think, from the counts so far, that this will be one of the best years ever thanks to that mild winter."

"Good." Adam stabbed a few of the flapjacks but he knew they would be cold; if you were late to breakfast, you had to suffer through rubbery eggs and dry toast and whatever else that was on the table as Hop Sing was always pressed in the morning and had no time to rewarm or cook more fresh eggs for a "slug-a-bed" which was the term he used, having adopted it from Ben. He lifted the syrup pitcher but suddenly his stomach rebelled at the thought of the overly-sweet syrup. He placed the pitcher back on the table and drank his coffee instead.

In a low voice, Adam said, "I thought you'd be gone."

"I was going to leave, packed my bag and all and then, well, I changed my mind. I can do that." She refused to look at Adam; she didn't want to see what expression he would have in his hazel eyes.

"Don't tell me you're going to attempt some type of nobility of character and wait for your well-deserved punishment?"

Madeline glared at him. "I would never try to outshine you. After all, haven't you been noble beyond compare? You are Sir Galahad—not Lancelot. After all, Lancelot was flawed, committed adultery—repeatedly-with his liege's wife, Guinevere, but Galahad, he was pure and good and no other knight could even strive to be as good as he. And you're so good, Adam, aren't you? Always noble of heart and mind." Madeline pushed her chair back and stood. "I don't even know why I try to do the right thing; you won't let me forget my sins, will you? But look for the mote in your own eye!" She left the table, tossing down her napkin and left Adam sitting and holding his cup; the coffee tasted more bitter than usual that morning.

Adam had been gone at least three hours when Ben, sitting at his desk and finishing his calculations for the round-up and moving on to mining ledger, heard a buggy pull into the yard. He rose and looked out the window behind his desk. Two men climbed down. They wore suits and homburgs; these were no cowboys. They looked around and then, one saying something to the other, they walked to the door. Before they could even touch the knocker, Ben opened it; he held a gun in his hand, not aimed, but held by his side in plain view. The two men noticed.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, sir—at least I hope so." The two men reached into the inside of their jackets and Ben raised the gun. "We're just going to present our papers and shields."

Ben still held the gun and watched both men carefully. The taller of the two presented an envelope and then produced a folded leather case with his shield that stated that he was a detective from Baltimore. Ben examined it. The leather case had wear about the edges from having been pulled out so many times.

"And you?" Ben asked. The other man slowly presented his shield. Then Ben nodded and he replaced it.

"Step back off the porch while I read this." The men complied. Ben looked over the paper. He had seem warrants before, even had one presented for his own arrest once and this one for Mrs. Madeline Purl, alias Madeline Mason, looked legitimate. It was of the proper weight paper and color.

Still holding the warrant, Ben asked their names.

"I'm Detective William Halbert. This is Detective Frank Morrow." Morrow dipped his head slightly in greeting.

"We have a duly sworn duty to carry out the warrant for the arrest of Mrs. Madeline Mason or Miss Madeline Purl, depending on which name she's using, and bring her back to Baltimore as a material witness in the case of the state vs. Thaddeus Markham. It's all there in the warrant."

"Is it a murder case?" Ben asked, still holding the gun.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the case. This the Cartwright residence, isn't it? Is Mrs. Mason here?"

"Yes, she's here. Won't you come in, detectives." Ben stepped aside and the two men walked in and pulled off their hats. Then they stood waiting. "Please have a seat. I'll go fetch her. Can I offer you some coffee?"

The two men looked at one another and Halbert spoke for both of them. "That would be nice, Mr. Cartwright. We've been traveling straight through and haven't even had breakfast yet; we're pressured to keep a schedule; Mr. Markham's trial is coming up and all witnesses have to be vetted."

"Yes, I understand. Hop Sing!" Ben waited until Hop Sing came from the kitchen. He looked at the two men but Ben knew Hop Sing had already seen them. Ben had glanced at the door from the kitchen to the yard and had seen the Chinese man peeking behind a curtain; Ben knew Hop Sing was more than likely holding the pistol he kept in a kitchen drawer, ready to come to Ben's assistance if required.

"Hop Sing, would you bring out some coffee and how about some of that maple cake from last night." He looked at the men who nodded.

"Maple cake gone!" His brow was furrowed and to an outsider, Hop Sing looked angry that the cake he had made was completely gone, even the crumbs pressed with the tines of the fork and eaten, but Ben knew that it was artifice; if any cake had been left, then Hop Sing would have been angry, would have repeatedly questioned all the Cartwrights about what was wrong with the cake and threatened to not make another maple cake or any other cake at all since the family didn't like his baking. "Mistah Hoss, he eat all what left last night. Come down in night and eat. I bring coffee and almond cookies. That all until time to bake pie for tonight dessert!" Hop Sing left and the men smiled at each other.

"I'll be back; Mrs. Mason is upstairs.

Ben knocked on the bedroom door and called out, "Madeline, it's me. There are…" The door opened and Madeline stood before him.

"I saw them. They're here for me, aren't they?"

"Yes. They have a warrant to take you back to Baltimore."

"I see. I expected it but…not this soon. I had hoped to make some type of peace with Adam but, well, it's too late for that anyway." She sighed deeply. "I've only brought him more pain."

"I'm sorry, Madeline. I wish there was something I could do for you. When you arrive in Baltimore, let me know where you're staying and I'll wire money for your defense."

She smiled. "You're kind but I have the money for a lawyer. And I appreciate your kindness and wish I could repay you in some way. I suppose the best way I can repay you is to hurry and pack and be out of your house. Thank you." Madeline kissed Ben on the cheek. "You are a wonderful man. Please tell the detectives I'll be down as quickly as I can."

Ben left and Madeline closed the door and leaned against it. She didn't want to leave but it was time for her to face what she had—or hadn't done. And she was certain that once she testified against Markham—if that was what she was going to be required to do, her days were numbered. One day an oysterman would dredge up her body from the bottom of the great lake and her eyes and nose would be gone, eaten by the fish or the crabs, her body bloated and fish-belly white. And she would be unrecognizable.


	19. Chapter 19

Adan tried not to appear upset when Ben told him the detectives from Baltimore had come and taken Madeline into custody and left immediately for Baltimore; he just nodded and asked when they had left. Hoss and Joe had just looked at one another; they were hesitant to say what they felt because they didn't know how Adam felt. It wasn't that they were afraid of Adam's response, that it be sardonic or cruel, but because they didn't want to make his pain any deeper.

At least with Madeline there, a sense of warmth had filled the house. Ben had once told them all that a woman in a house seemed to make it a home, seemed to join all the people within into a family. It was odd, the impact a woman had; even a shrew would probably do the same thing. Now, Hoss and Joe felt an acute loss they couldn't explain and Adam had lost both his wife and the woman who—even for such a short time—filled Marjorie's place in his house, in his bed and in his heart.

"Well, I'll go back to my place tomorrow. Even with the Hardesty's taking care, I need to check on things…and clean out Marjorie's belongings." Adam walked over to the table where only four places had been set and took his seat.

Ben looked at his other two sons and gestured for them to go to their places but Hoss gave Adam a side-long glance as he sat down.

Hop Sing brought out the platters and bowls and Adam stabbed a few slices of rare roast beef and placed them on his plate.

"Do we have any ground horseradish?" Adam asked.

"Adam, we haven't said grace yet…" Ben reminded him.

"Tell me, what have I to give thanks for? Go ahead—just tell me."

Joe looked down at his empty plate and focused on the scene of milling cattle on the plate. He noticed the details that he hadn't really noticed since he was a boy and had pouted at the table when told he had to clean his plate before he could leave the table. Then he would just stare at his plate, at the carrots that seemed to dare him to eat them. He had hated carrots and still did only now that he was an adult, he just wouldn't serve himself any but back then carrots were scooped up and put on his plate by his father. It was only when Adam told Joe that according to an old wives' tale, carrots helped eyesight and if Joe wanted to see in the dark, well, he better eat them that Joe did but he had a few questions before he dared to take a bite.

"How come old wives know that? And which old wife? Mrs. Shaughnessy?"

"All old wives," Adam said.

"Yeah, but how come they know? Why don't old husbands know?"

Adam had sighed in exasperation and their father just smiled but said nothing; it was going to be a pleasure watching someone else deal with Joe's never-ending questions.

"Well if the old wife wants to, she can tell her old husband and they can tell anyone they want. How do you think I know?" Adam said. "One of the old husbands told me—old as Pa." And Adam had grinned at his Pa's insulted expression and Hoss laughed aloud while Joe just looked puzzled. But he ate his carrots.

And the situation with Adam took Ben back to when Adam was young and still believed that his father had all the answers. Ben cleared his throat. Now as an adult, Adam always seemed to put him in these situations where he had to answer a question that had no specific answer and that he couldn't bluff his way through.

"You have many things to be thankful for and if you'll stop and consider, I'm sure you'll see it. Now, let's give thanks for the food before us.' Ben put out his hands and Joe and Hoss took hold of each outstretched hand with theirs, putting out their other hands for Adam to take. He hesitated. It would be hypocritical. But Joe opened one eyed and squinted at him, making a slight motion with his hand, so Adam grabbed the hands of his two brothers and bowed his head while his father said grace.

"Most Holy, Righteous and everywhere present God,  
our Father who art in Heaven,  
we ask thy blessing upon this food.  
Bless the hearts and hands that prepare the same.  
And when it is ours to pass from time to eternity,  
own us and crown us heirs to Thy kingdom.  
These favors and blessings we ask in the name of Christ,  
our Great Redeemer.

Amen."

Amen was repeated by Adam, Hoss and Joe and then, Hop Sing, who always stood quietly at Ben's right as grace was said, smiled, his face beaming. Now they would eat. Although Hop Sing, who in his room had an altar to his Chinese gods and burned incense and laid small offerings to please them and earn favor, he still found comfort in the family prayer that Ben said with his family. And the fact that blessings were asked for him as the one who prepared the food, well, perhaps the Cartwright god would commune with his gods and ask for priority to be given to him and his extended family in fulfilling all their needs.

Dinner was still a relatively somber meal-Ben talked about the mine; Salty McKisson had approached him and asked to invest in mine No. 2. What did they think?

Although Hoss and Joe knew that the question was thrown out to all of them, it was meant for Adam; he barely looked up. Adam just ate without even tasting his food and when he was finished, he pushed back his chair, excused himself and went out to the porch. In days past, he would grab up his guitar and go out to the porch and sing a few songs, tuning and plucking the strings until he had the proper fingering. But his guitar was at the other house and although he had said he wanted to return, in actuality, he didn't; Adam never wanted to walk into the house he had built for him and Marjorie. And what about when he touched her things? Would they hold some type of charm? Be a talisman for his lost love, for his dead wife?

The night was pleasantly cool—the chill of winter seemed to be on the run with warmer days taking over and it wasn't yet as hot as it would be in August when Adam would have to sit on the porch to keep cool nights he couldn't sleep. And last year, Marjorie had even joined him one night when she couldn't sleep either—one still night when not even a breeze wafted over their damp bodies and the cicadas kept up one long chirring noise.

Adam sat in the rocking chair, an Indian blanket thrown over the boards across the back for padding. He looked out into the darkness and wondered how Madeline was, if she was afraid. He had hoped to accompany her but now he wondered what he had hoped to accomplish if he had. Marjorie was buried and other than a tenuous link to Madeline due to those few nights they had shared a bed, as glorious as they had been, he would need to let her go anyway. But the mixture of guilt and desire, those he didn't know how he would be able to escape.

Adam was just about to go in the house when the door opened, the golden light from inside cutting into the blackness. It was his father.

"I was just about to go in." Adam stood up, the chair rocking with its own momentum.

"Sit back down, would you, Adam?" Ben asked, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets. Adam sat back down and Ben walked to the edge of the porch and leaned against a post. He took a deep breath. "Smell the evening primroses? Like the perfume of a beautiful woman."

"They do smell good."

"You should plant some around your house." Ben waited but the only sound was the rockers on the porch floor and katydids calling. "Remember the story you told Hoss about the katydids?"

"Adam chuckled. "Yeah—Katy-did and Katy-didn't. What had Katy done? That a girl named Katie had misbehaved once and the crickets were telling on her but half of them didn't like tattle-tales and so for the rest of time, all the katydids disputed each other."

Ben smiled; Hoss had been gullible and agreed that a tattle-tale was a bad thing. "Things are always so peaceful at night, aren't they? When you were small, when you and Hoss were little—before Marie—at the end of day when you and Hoss were in bed, that was my favorite time."

"Rid of us, huh?"

Ben chuckled. "No, it wasn't that. It was just that I knew that my sons were safely in their rooms and that I could put aside any worry for a few hours. I hated to go to sleep because I wanted to enjoy the peace of mind I felt. Hop Sing would come out and sometimes we would play chess and every once in a while we would play mahjong for two and he would trounce me every single time."

Adam chuckled. "I never knew that."

"Oh, yes. We would drink sherry and play and talk about any problems we had with you two or anything else. You, Adam," Ben turned his head and glanced at his son, "you caused us the most problems."

"I did? It was Hoss who made us afraid we'd all starve!"

Ben chuckled. "I was always afraid that you…you were always so guarded, so private, never telling me about your problems at school or with any children. Even your teachers couldn't fathom why you never told them about any issues like the time Carl Regan said it was you who stole the collection money off the teacher's desk, that he saw you take it—swore to it, I believe."

"How did you know about that?" Adam stopped rocking.

"Mr. Jorgenson came out to see me. He told me that he didn't believe you took it but that since you said nothing, he had no choice but to punish you. Otherwise I never would have known about your paddling and having to stay after school and chop the wood for the school stove and sweep and such. Why didn't you ever tell me about that? Or other things such as how you felt about…well, I guess you've told me about a few things." Ben thought back to Adam's revelations over Ben's expressions of grief. "I should be careful what I ask for, shouldn't I?" Ben turned and smiled at Adam.

"What's this about, Pa?"

"I just want…I wish I could help you over this rough time."

"Pa, I'm fine." Adam looked away from his father; it was easier to talk about feelings, about issues when there was no eye contact. "Don't worry about me." He stood up. "I think I'll turn in. I'm going to see Stratton early and then head out to the house; I've been avoiding doing the things that need to be done."

"Adam," Ben reached out and stayed Adam. "I think…you're not fine. I wish you'd just stay here at the house for a while. It can't hurt and it's better than staying alone."

"I prefer to be alone."

"No one prefers to be alone—it's just that we fear being with others. There's a difference, Adam. You married so you must have been weary of being alone. I think it's in a man's nature to want a woman around and a hardship when there isn't one and I'm not talking for sex. Any woman is welcome in a home because they bring a sense of order, a warmth that you didn't even know was missing until they arrive."

Adam cringed inside. He hated talking about intimate subjects with his father. When he was about 10, even though he had wanted to know about the process a man and a woman performed to have children, Adam wanted to cover his ears and beg his father to stop when he sat him down and finally told him. Now he was a grown man and could probably tell his father a few things about sex the old man didn't know but he still hated discussing it. But about loneliness, Adam knew his father was correct; he didn't want to be alone—he just didn't want to share his inner life.

"So you think that now that I've lost Marjorie I need people around to distract me."

"Not to distract you but, Adam, it helps to get back into life. Trust me—I know."

"You always think you know what's best for me." Adam turned on his father. "That's a bit of hubris, isn't it? For you to be that goddamn presumptuous."

"I know you better than any other person in this world, Adam. I've watched you grow into a fine man, a brave man and a man with convictions who I'm proud of."

"Don't be too proud, Pa. You have no idea."

Ben watched Adam walk back into the house and his shoulders slumped. Ben was aware he didn't know all the details of Adam's relationship with Madeline or, for that matter, Marjorie, and certain things should remain known only to the people involved. But if Adam would only allow him to help… Ben sighed. He had tried. And if another occasion arose, he would try again.

~ 0 ~

It was early, still dark, the next morning when someone knocked on the door. Hop Sing, the only one up at that time, answered the door. He wiped his hands on his apron and opened the door a crack. A young man stood on the other side, his face lit by the narrow slant of light from inside.

"What you want so early? You look for job? Come back later." Hop Sing was about to close the door when they young man interrupted.

"No, I'm from town—the telegraph office. I was told to bring this wire to Mr. Cartwright immediately." He held a small envelope.

Hop Sing reached for the envelope, stared at the addressee and then told the young man he would deliver it but before he went back into the kitchen, Hop Sing pondered whether or not to wake up Adam as he was the one to whom it was addressed. Hop Sing considered telegrams an ill omen—always fraught with bad news. After all, some sort of evil must be involved; he didn't understand how words could travel through a wire no matter how many times Adam tried to explain. Hoss had looked just as puzzled as Hop Sing when Adam explained the process and asked how anyone could understand a bunch of dots and dashes.

"It's a form of writing, just like an alphabet only instead of seeing the shape of the letters, you 'hear' the dots and dashes that make the letters."

"Yeah," Hoss said, "but you can see when a letter ends—I mean you finish it off before you write another—even in that cursive because of the way it looks but a dot and a dash…I just don't know. Maybe the jasper who took the message counted dots wrong and the wire says something; completely different from what was meant."

"Sound like demons," Hop Sing said. "Evil sent through air—man cannot see demons but demons fly."

Adam sighed. "It's not demons and there's no mistake once you learn the code. As long and the sender and the receiver know what they're doing, there are no mistakes."

"Humph," Hop Sing said, frowning.

"Yeah," Hoss said. "Humph!" And at that, Adam had given up.

Still deliberating, Hop Sing looked up and Ben Cartwright, yawning, was coming down the stairs.

"Someone at the door?"

"Man come from town. Bring telegram. Say important." He handed it to Ben who stared at the name.

"This is for Adam."

"I take up," Hop Sing offered.

"No, no. I'll take it up. Just have the coffee ready."

The telegram stated that a Baltimore detective would be arriving in two days to take custody of Miss Madeline Purl. The original wire had been sent to Stratton, he explained and he had sent the wire indicating it as a priority.

"You said they showed you papers?" Adam said asked his father as he quickly pulled on his trousers.

"Yes, they did. It was, to all appearances, a proper warrant. And they had authentic police shields. If Madeline suspected anything, if she recognized the detectives, she made no indication. Maybe they were Baltimore detectives from another office."

Adam reread the telegram. "No. This says one detective—one. Obviously, they weren't who they said they were or didn't have the authority. Stratton and I had talked about possible graft—Markham bought some of the men and he may have bought these two detectives." Adam crumpled the paper and threw it into the cold fireplace. "Damn it! The have almost a whole day's head start. I've got to find them—and her—that is if she's still alive."

"Adam, you have no idea where they've gone or…"

"I have to think about this and head out after them." Adam pulled open a drawer and pulled out a neatly-folded shirt. It was one of the shirts he had left at the house when he had moved into his own home and it had lain in the drawer for almost two years along with a few other shirts and various pieces of clothing he had left behind. "Is Hoss up yet?"

"No."

"I want him to come with me; he can track a ghost." Adam awkwardly worked the buttons on the shirt. "Did they say if they were taking the train…the stage?"

"No. They arrived with a buggy from Lawson's Livery—painted right on the side—you know how he does it—the double L's? They didn't say anything about travel accommodations."

Adam slipped on the shirt and began to button it up. "They may have told Old Man Lawson their plans when they returned the buggy. I wonder if they stayed at the hotel. Maybe I can find out their names."

"Let me think a minute." Ben tried to remember the men's names. "One was…the taller one who did all the talking was called…Hal…Halbert. I don't remember his first name but I remember that the other one was Morrow. I remember that distinctly."

"Halbert and Morrow," Adam repeated to himself. Having stepped into his dungarees and tucked in his shirt, he sat down on the bed to pull on his boots that had been standing by the bed. Adam seemed to forget his father was in the room. "I have to stop by the house…there's not time." Adam looked up. "Pa, drive over later and tell the Hardestys that I'll be gone a while and to take care of the place and ask Hop Sing to pack some food for the trail."

Ben nodded and watched Adam and then shook his head. He felt guilty of delivering Madeline into the hands of her possible executioners and he had done nothing to stop it. And if Madeline was found dead or never found at all…he didn't even want to think about it.


	20. Chapter 20

"Them two jaspers were supposed to bring the buggy back but I'll be damned if they never did. Now I'm at a loss for the buggy; their deposit don't cover the cost of replacing it." Lawson turned his head and spat into the straw.

"Did you tell Roy?" Adam asked.

"Yeah, I told Roy and all he did was hand me some damn piece of paper and tell me to fill it out—like I got time for that."

Adam pursed his lips; Lawson wasn't going to be much help. "Did you fill it out?"

"No. I wiped my ass with it."

Hoss laughed but Adam's quick look stopped him.

"All right," Adam said. "Can I see the paperwork from the rental?"

"Don't see why not. You gonna get my buggy back?" Lawson pulled a box out from under the counter.

"I'm gonna try," Adam said. He watched while Lawson pulled a pair of spectacles from his shirt pocket and moved them halfway down his nose. Adam's impatience grew while Lawson pulled out sheets of paper and slowly examined each one before rejecting it.

"Shouldn't it be near the top? The transaction was just yesterday."

Lawson continued pulling out receipts. "Would be on the top but I knocked the box over yesterday afternoon."

"Let me find it." Adam reached for the box and turned it around on the counter to face him. He pulled out a handful of receipts and handed them to Hoss and then sorted through the rest himself.

"Now wait a minute," Lawson said. "Them're my papers. You got no call to go through them."

"I think I got it," Hoss said, holding out a piece of paper.

Adam took it from his brother and quickly read it. "Did you read this?" he asked Lawson.

"No. Had no need to at the time. The tall one said they'd be back in a few hours with the buggy and they gave me the $5.00 for the deposit. You know I charge by the hour."

Adam showed the paper to Hoss. "It says Bill Halbert. They must have taken Madeline in the buggy to either Carson City and then boarded the train or they decided to just travel in the buggy. But if they're going all the way to Baltimore, they would have to catch the train at some point."

"You gonna give me back my papers?"

Adam handed the papers, all of them, to Lawson who summarily dropped a few.

"You need to file these by date or alphabetically or some way—this is….chaos." And with that, Adam left the livery and Hoss followed.

Lawson bent down to pick up the papers and grabbed his back groaning. He stiffly stood up and sorted them, straightening the pages so the ends were the same. "People think I got all the time in the world to deal with paperwork. And that Adam Cartwright—thinks he knows it all. Tellin' me how to run my shop. Humph."

~ 0 ~

Hoss had been able to track the buggy ruts to the point where it merged with other ruts as they were closer to town but now they knew the buggy hadn't returned, that the two men and Madeline had gone elsewhere and so Adam had to consider what to do.

"Maybe we should check the train at Carson City. I mean, iffen they want to take her back to Baltimore…"

"I can't quite figure it out," Adam said as he sat on his horse. They had stopped at a crossroads.

"What's that?"

"How did Halbert and Morrow know where Madeline was?"

Hoss furrowed his brow. "Well, they could've asked somebody in town iffen they…nah, that doesn't make sense. They woulda had to know she was somewhere near Virginia City and you said they just had contact with Stratford. How'd they even know she was out at the Ponderosa? They coulda…." Hoss had a sudden revelation. "They came with…"

"The coffins," Adam said. "They traveled on the same train as the coffins—knew they were being sent and just debarked when the coffins did hoping to see if Madeline showed and I dragged her to the depot—forced her to look at the bodies to make her suffer." Adam turned his horse's head. "Let's go to Carson City."

~ 0 ~

Carson City was now overtaking Virginia City as new construction and businesses were choosing it to open their western offices. With the train depot bringing new residents every day, that meant fresh customers bringing eastern money.

"Smell that, Adam? I ain't had nothin' to eat but those biscuits I grabbed up this mornin' and I need some coffee. Can't we stop for somethin'? I ain't gonna be no good to no one iffen I don't get some food inta me. Beginnin' to feel a bit weak."

Adam was anxious; he wanted to move on but his head was pounding; he knew when he skipped his coffee, a headache would follow.

"Fine. You go eat; I'll see Stratton and then join you." He pulled out his pocket watch. "It's about 11:00—order me some coffee."

"That's all? Just coffee?"

"That's all. See you in about fifteen minutes."

Adam hitched his horse in front of Stratford's law office. Construction was going on next to it and the noise made his horse nervous as the hammering and clattering of lumber made a commotion. Adam patted his horse's neck, offering a soothing murmur.

He entered and bypassed the law clerk who stood and greeted him. Adam walked into Stratford's office. Stratford rose from his chair and put out his hand.

"Surprised to see you, Adam. Sit down." Adam did and so did Stratford. "Did you receive my wire?"

"Yes but it was too late."

"What do you mean? Too late for what?

"Earlier in the day two men with a spurious arrest warrant and with what appeared genuine identification, took custody of Madeline—Miss Purl; my father examined their papers and identification and he said everything appeared genuine. But the wire you sent me stated there would be only one detective arriving and even if there were two, they couldn't have arrived before the wire did. I think they're from Baltimore-Markham's men. He probably owns half the police force. You still have the original wire?"

Stratford said nothing, just pulled open the deep drawer in his desk in which he placed his most current cases so to have ready access. He pulled out a folder and placed it on his desk. When he opened it, Adam noticed there was a copy of every piece of paper that had passed between them including the billing. "Here's the telegram. Read it yourself."

Adam read it and handed it back.

"Just one detective," Stratford said. "I sent you the same information I received. Obviously the men are either dishonest police detectives or impersonators which means…"

"They have Madeline and for all we know, she's dead by now."

Stratford sat back, pondering the situation. "Well, if they're actual detectives, they would want to take her back safely—unless they are to… No, they wouldn't kill a woman trying to escape—that wouldn't be plausible. I doubt they'd kill her."

"If that's not their purpose, it may be to make certain she's terrorized, intimidated and would testify for Markham. No matter what, legitimate or not, I want to make certain she's alive and well and if I have to, I'll accompany them back to Baltimore myself."

"You may not fare so well, Adam. They wouldn't have to answer for you."

"That's my problem. What I want to know," Adam said, "is if you talked to anyone else about the case. Did anyone else contact you from Baltimore but the police commander? Did you talk to anyone else about searching for Mrs. Marsh?"

"No, of course not," Stratford said, insulted. He was no fool and for Adam Cartwright to be patronizing rankled him. "For one, there was never any need. My whole purpose was to act as a buffer between you and your late wife and her sister and I believe I've done so."

Adam ignored Stratford's injured tone. "Did your clerk talk to anyone?"

"Let's find out." Stratford opened the door to the outer office and called for the young man who drafted all his papers and made the requisite copies on a typewriter. "Alex, come in here, would you?"

The young man entered the office and glanced at Adam who was obviously interested in what he had to say. Stratford remained standing.

"Alex, did anyone come by the office the last few days asking about Mr. Cartwright's or his deceased wife's affairs?"

"No, sir—not about that."

"What do you mean, 'Not about that'?" Adam asked, standing up. The young man realized he had said something to upset him. "Did any men come in wanting information about me or my wife?"

"No, sir. It was about Mrs. Marsh." The young man paled. He feared for his job. Many times Mr. Stratford had chastised him because he was a sociable, garrulous young man who was quick to smile and had a way of making friends quickly. Stratford had often told him that he would make a good lawyer, able to encourage people to talk to him due to his open, honest face and his friendly ways but he also had to curb his talkative ways so that he himself didn't inadvertently give away information; he needed to develop cunning.

"Alex," Stratford said, "this is a serious situation and I need to know every detail if someone came in here and requested information. Tell us what you know."

"Well, when the coffins arrived—you know, that day. The man who accompanied them on the trip, he came by and said that he needed someone to sign for them and identify the bodies and that he had been given our office as the contact—in a letter. He showed me it. I told him that Mr. Cartwright would be arriving to fetch the bodies and asked him where the bodies…I mean the coffins were and he said they were in a back room at the depot."

Stratford and Adam looked at one another. There was nothing extraordinary in that piece of intelligence.

"Go on," Stratford said.

"A few hours later, two men came in right after you'd left for lunch, Mr. Stratford, and asked to speak to you. I thought it was odd at the time but...I mean you'd just left for lunch. They pulled out badges and showed them to me—Baltimore police department. Then the taller one, he said that they had legal business with a resident of Carson City and they pulled out a warrant. It was a material witness warrant for Mrs. Marsh—it had her other name as well, Miss Purl-and they said they were to return with her in custody to Baltimore. They wanted to know if any other persons had arrived to arrest her. I looked at the warrant closer and it was legitimate—judge's signature, it was stamped with a seal and everything. So I told them that no one else—to my knowledge—had arrived to take custody because she was staying at the Ponderosa near Virginia City. Then he folded the papers back up and slipped them in his pocket. That's all, Mr. Stratford."

"Why didn't you mention this matter?"

"I'm sorry, sir. It slipped my mind. It was right before Avery McDermott killed his wife over the cold coffee. You remember what a mess that was—how he came running in here with blood all over him and holding that jar of money saying he needed a lawyer? I just forgot in all the commotion—I mean all those people on the street who'd seen him followed him in here and I had a roomful. I am sorry." The young man dropped his head.

"Thank you, Alex."

"Yes, sir." The clerk looked at Adam who said nothing and then left, closing the door behind him.

"If they're actual detectives…" Stratford said stroking his beard.

"They're Markham's men whether they're legitimate or not," Adam finished.

"Yes. They more than likely are actual Baltimore detectives but still Markham's men. I'm sure the warrant was filled out and stamped by a judge who's on the take." Stratford waited but Adam was lost in thought.

"Thank you," Adam finally said. "I'm going to stop by the train depot. Maybe they'll remember if two men and a woman took a train to Baltimore."

"If it were anyone else but Mrs. Marsh, I would say your chances of anyone remembering are few but not many men would forget a woman like your sister-in-law." Stratford still often thought of her as he lay waiting for sleep, mourning that fact he wasn't younger. "I hope, Adam, she's found alive and well."


	21. Chapter 21

Adam walked in the small restaurant. Hoss sat in the corner eating a stack of flapjacks, at his elbow, an empty plate sat smeared with biscuit and gravy residue.

"What kept you?" Hoss said between chews.

"I went by the depot. C'mon—we might be able to catch up with them in a day if we hurry."

"Coffee you wanted is there," Hoss said, nodding to a full coffee cup across from him. "It's probably cold."

Adam picked up the cup, looked inside and then drank it off. He slammed it back down on the table. "Let's go."

"But I ain't finished yet," Hoss said, cutting off another bite-full of pancakes with the side of his fork. "What'd they say at the depot?" He quickly ate and cut himself another piece of the pancakes.

"Doesn't look as if they took the train—at least not from here. The station master couldn't remember them and, well, I also checked the livery just in case Lawson's buggy had been left there. We have to hurry; here we are almost in California and they've been heading in the opposite direction. C'mon."

"Sure," Hoss said standing but bending to take another forkful of pancakes. "Pay, wouldja?"

With a sigh of disgust, Adam tossed a few dollars on the table and walked out while Hoss, holding his hat, drained the tall glass of milk and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He glanced lovingly at the abandoned, half-eaten stack of flapjacks imbued with the decadent concoction of melted butter mingled with maple syrup—an amber ambrosia. He shook his head, sighed as if parting with a lost love, and slapped his hat on his head and walked out to join Adam who sat impatiently on his horse, waiting.

~ 0 ~

The brothers covered the miles quickly, riding through the night. There was no use in tracking as there had been no place to start in Carson City so they rode in the direction that the detectives would have if they were escorting Madeline to Baltimore and intended at some point to board the train.

The sun would be up in another hour and Hoss' horse was beginning to rebel; it was unlike his rider to push him to such extremes. "My horse is 'bout worn out," Hoss said. "Let's stop for coffee and a little breakfast." He could hear the noise of a brook nearby.

Adam reluctantly agreed but insisted on just removing the saddle bags and loosening the cinches when Hoss took the horses to the stream. "And remember," Adam called after him, "Get the water for the coffee upstream from where the horse's drink. And wash your hands."

Adam gathered wood and by the time Hoss returned with the filled coffee pot, a fire was going and Adam had placed a shallow fry pan filled with strips of thick bacon on the flames, raised by a few gathered stones. The meat popped and spattered grease and Hoss watched his hand while he placed the coffee pot on the heat. Adam spooned in a few pre-ground coffee beans and replaced the lid. Then he sat on his haunches while he turned the slices of the streaky meat with a knife's point.

Hoss pulled a loaf of sour dough bread from his saddle bag that Hop Sing has packed. He unwrapped the oiled paper. "Smell that bread. You know what, Adam? Hop Sing done told me he's had the same starter now for nigh onto 20 years."

"What are you talking about?" Adam rubbed the back of one hand on his trouser leg. A splat of hot grease had popped and burned him.

"That sour dough starter stuff. You know, that crock of that stuff Hop Sing keeps feedin' all the time, leastways, that what he calls it. Says it's alive. He uses some of it each time he makes this bread. Says that Mrs. Shaughnessy gave him a crock of it when we first moved here and that he's using the son of the son of the son of it ever since."

"Oh, that stuff. Tear me off a hunk of the bread. You did wash your hands, didn't you?"

"Oh, hell, yes. I done washed behind my ears too. Wanna check?"

"Just give me the bread." Adam took the piece that Hoss handed him and spilt it open and then filled it with half the greasy slices. He handed it to Hoss and then took the second hunk of bread and did the same thing. Then they sat back and quietly ate their diner and when the coffee was hot, they enjoyed it as well. Hoss tore another piece of bread off the loaf and soaked up the rest of the bacon grease.

"Now's all I need is a short nap and I'll be right as rain," Hoss said.

"No time for that," Adam said as he started gathering up items and poured the remainder of the coffee on the fire.

"Look, Adam, they're gonna have to stop too, 'specially with a woman along. I'm sure she has some things to take care of—you know, woman things. And she'd have to sleep. Why I bet they're just wakin' up now."

Adam just glanced at Hoss but said nothing about "them." "Get the horses. We need to start off. I figure that they might catch the train at Elko. We might be able to beat them there since it seems they're still traveling in that buggy."

"Adam, there's some rough territory between here and Elko."

"I know. That means they'll be going the long way around. Now get the horses."

~ 0 ~

"Looks like the axle done broke here," Hoss said as Adam walked around the buggy that was awkwardly dropped to one side. A wagon wheel lay nearby. "Snapped off at the hub. Most rusted through."

"Yeah," Adam said, standing looking at the double "L's" painted on the side. "That Lawson—he doesn't maintain his buggies any more than he does anything else he owns."

"Yeah. They took the horse with 'em. Look here." Hoss pointed to some tracks. "Two men's prints and here's a woman's, Madeline's, I s'pose, and here's where she gets on the horse. At least they let 'er ride and didn't drag 'er along like some captured squaw."

"Let's find them," Adam said. He had noticed that none of Madeline's belongings were left behind; she had taken a valise, he knew that from his father. For some reason, the fact that she still had her things, perhaps still had her leather purse of money, comforted him. She might be able, if she had the chance, to hire someone in Elko to help her when they passed through.

In looking for Adam's horse which had pulled away from the limb to which it had been loosely tethered searching for lusher grass, Hoss had come across the buggy. Adam's horse grazed only a few yards away. So gathering the horses, Hoss headed back to camp and before Adam could snidely complain about how long it had taken him to fetch the horses, Hoss told him about the buggy.

The tracks were obvious and the progress the trio had made was slow. Then they saw the valise.

Adam examined it. It had been tossed aside, the clothing scattered. If the money had been inside, it was obvious it had been found and then the other contents as well as the case itself, abandoned.

"Looks like a scuffle here," Hoss said. "And I'm just speculatin' but this area here, looks like someone—and I'm guessing Madeline—was on the ground like she fell. And look here." Hoss pointed. "That horse got upset, real upset. Looks like it tried to move away but was held. So there must've been loud noise, lots of movement. And look…a woman's heel dug into the ground."

Adam said nothing, just looked to the spot Hoss indicated. It looked to him as if something had happened as well, as if there had been a tussle of some sort. His first thought was that Madeline had been assaulted but if that had been the case, it would have been at a camp at night and there was nothing to indicate they had stayed there. No, he decided, it was for the money. That would be about the only thing Madeline, in his opinion, would risk her life to save. The rest of the world could go to hell as long as she had her money and was comfortable and safe. It was a small touch of irony, Adam considered, that now she had nothing—no money and no safety. Madeline would be fortunate to reach Baltimore alive.

"Let's see where these tracks lead." Adam mounted up and he and Hoss followed the subtle signs that indicated the trio's path. They led to a shack that stood alone in a small clearing.

"Looks like a line shack," Hoss said. "Too well tended to be otherwise. See. That roof's been patched."

"We must be on private property—someone's ranch."

"Yeah but that's where they are. There ain't no horse but there's smoke—not much of it but still it's smoke. I'd say they made a fire earlier and now are gettin' ready to leave—or they left already."

"Let's find out." Adam dismounted. "Hoss, circle around and see if there's a back door and if there are any tracks leading away. I'll come in from the side and see if I can see if anyone's in there."

Hoss dismounted as well and they tied off their horses away from view of anyone in the house.

"Adam, I got one question."

"What?" Adam was impatient. If the detectives and Madeline weren't inside then they had only wasted more time in finding her.

'What if they are legitimate detectives? What if the whole things just a mix-up, you know, crossed wires? Ain't we goin' against the law then? And iffen you shoot and kill one of 'em, ain't you then a criminal for killin' a lawman?"

"I've thought of that. I've considered the whole scenario but I'll have to see what's going on first and talk to Madeline. Find out what they've said to her."

"You think you'll be able to?"

"If they're legitimate, I don't know why they'd refuse. They'd let me ask her a few simple questions."

Well, she could lie," Hoss offered.

"I've thought of that too. But I'll just have to hope she won't. Or if she does, that I can tell." But Adam was filled with doubt. He had considered it and Madeline seemed to be a smooth liar. He doubted he would be able to tell with her; he wouldn't have the objectivity.


	22. Chapter 22

"Well," Hoss said, "iffen they're in there, don't go in shootin'. After all, they's lawmen and out here, they don't have to answer to anyone."

"Neither do we. I can just shoot them through a window if I want and take Madeline back with us."

"Somehow, older brother, I don't think you'd do that. I'd bet good money on it."

Adam smirked. "You just might lose. You don't think she'd be worth it?"

"To me? Yes. To you? It'd be too much for you to trade away—you'd never enjoy her." Hoss waited but Adam said nothing more. "Well, maybe you would but you'd feel like hell afterwards. I'm headin' around back."

Hoss was right, Adam conceded. He would enjoy Madeline, at least while the act lasted, but afterwards he would feel immense guilt—mainly because he would know he would tumble Madeline again, unable to help himself. He sighed and stole to the side window.

~ 0 ~

Inside, Madeline sat on a cot while a well-dressed man sat at a table nursing a tin mug of coffee. He raised the coffee pot and seemed to be offering some to Madeline who shook her head no. Adam tried to see if there was anyone else but guessed that the second man was gone for the time being along with the horse.

Although Madeline's hair was mussed and her clothes in slight disarray from the struggle, she looked unharmed. Then Adam noticed that her left wrist was hand-cuffed to the wooden cross-bar at end of the cot. Something had happened to make the detectives think she would escape—just as he himself had believed Madeline would do when she was at the Ponderosa. Adam conjectured it must have been during an attempt to escape that the valise fell open and that Madeline had scuffled with the men. But no matter what the reason, she was securely tethered to the bed post.

Adam knocked once on the front door and then slowly opened it. Madeline looked up, surprised and then her expression changed to one of hope. The man at the table was surprised as well and stood up. Adam was sure he was armed but wore no gun belt about his hips. But then no metropolitan constables did. More than likely, he wore a shoulder holster inside his jacket as the msn slipped one hand inside it.

"Who are you?" the detective asked.

Adam spread out his hands to show he held nothing, his gun still holstered at his side. "My name's Adam Cartwright. Miss Purl," he nodded toward Madeline who still sat, "is my sister-in-law. I was concerned about her and rightly so. I see that your trip back to Baltimore isn't going well. Why is she cuffed?"

"Adam I…."

"You shut up," the man said to Madeline. She remained silent. He turned his attention to Adam. "You need to turn around and leave. Miss Purl is in custody by the authority of a material witness warrant and she's cuffed because she tried to take off on the only horse we have. She can't be trusted—but you probably know that. Now, if I were you, Mr. Cartwright, I'd just leave."

Madeline turned away her head and Adam wondered if she was ashamed or embarrassed; either choice hardly seemed likely to him. He also noticed there was no back entrance to the line shack—not even a window. A counter with a sink and pump ran the back length of the small shack, cupboards above it. If this line shack was like the ones on the Ponderosa, it was well-stocked with canned goods and other necessary supplies. An oil lamp burned on the counter, not yet being put out as it had only been light outside less than an hour. Beside the lamp was a deep cast iron Dutch oven. The small stove still held a coffee pot.

"I'd like to accompany you" Adam said. "I'll pay my own way."

"Sorry, I can't allow that. Now if you don't leave, I'm afraid I'll have to arrest you for interfering in my ability to carry out my duties."

"Well, if I can't accompany you, I'll just follow. I'm assuming you're heading—or were heading for Elko. I found your buggy. I believe it's been stolen from the livery in Virginia City."

"The liver owner will be compensated. It was necessary to commandeer the buggy for the commission of our orders. Now I'm telling you one last time to leave." It looked as if the detective was about to pull his gun when the door opened.

Adam waited to hear Hoss' voice behind him; he was disappointed.

"I found a big man skulking around the cabin. Who's this one?"

Adam caught Madeline's eye but said nothing.

"Says he's Adam Cartwright, Miss Purl's brother-in-law. What about the big one?" He directed the question to Adam.

"He's my brother. He was just being cautious." Adam turned and saw the man behind him held a gun. He too was well dressed but like the other man, looked rumpled from their misadventure. The man stepped closer and cautiously pulled Adam's gun from its holster. "What happened to him?"

"He's asleep. Took one blow to send him down but about three more to keep him from getting back up." He turned his attention back to the other detective. "Halbert, I bought two horses and extra livery from a rancher—told him our buggy broke down—I think this is his property. He told us to move on—didn't give a damn that we were bona fide detectives. Looks now like we have two extra horses. Heard theirs tied off a way. So what are we going to do with this one?"

"Please," Madeline said. "Don't harm either of them." She tried to stand, apparently forgetting the handcuffs for a moment. She sat back down. "Adam, they're actual detectives but…"

"You're Markham's men, aren't you?" Adam knew that if they confessed that they were being paid by Markham and that not only they, but the judge who signed the warrant were part of allowing criminal activity, they would be prosecuted and more than likely, the whole structure would collapse, Markham's façade of respectability destroyed. Thaddeus Markham would be shunned as a pariah by those in power as everyone associated with him would be suspect.

"Adam. Please don't say anything more!" Madeline begged. "You're asking dangerous questions."

"If I'm going to die anyway, I might as well know the truth. Who are you two working for and what's supposed to happen to Madeline?"

The man behind him chuckled. "So now it's 'Madeline'. You and your sister-in-law get a little close? Well, once a whore, always a whore I've always said."

"That hold true with your mother?" Adam asked, turning slightly. He hoped his remark would anger the detective behind him, cause him to behave unwisely. Adam felt that if he could just get the gun away from him…

"You watch your goddamn mouth…"

Adam saw the man move one step closer but then stopped when Halbert called out his name.

"Morrow! We don't have time for this." Morrow relaxed but he was itching to place the barrel of his gun against the back of this stranger's head and pull the trigger. He regretted not having shot the big man who now lay face-down in the dirt behind the shack. That would have shown this swarthy man who was really in charge. Morrow could barely wait for the orders to take Cartwright out and finish him.

"All right, Cartwright—I'll answer your questions. I don't know if we work for Markham or not. I just know that I owe favors, big ones to Judge Chapman in Baltimore and was asked to bring in that woman as a witness. If she didn't agree to testify that she knew nothing of anything, that she had no knowledge of Thaddeus Markham as anything but an upright citizen, well, we're to do away with her—before or after the trial. Fortunately for her, she's agreed to our terms. There's a lawyer waiting for her in Baltimore and we're to deliver her into his hands. That is if she makes it all the way. Like I said, she's already tried to escape although I don't know where the hell she thought she was going. Anyway, we found her money and the bit of jewelry she had—used it to buy what we need to go on. Now she depends on us even to let her relieve herself. Makes a woman real docile, real tractable."

Adam noticed a purple bruise on Madeline's jaw. "You strike her?"

"She tried to bite me. What's a man to do with a bitch like that? Anyway, now you know everything I know and it's such a shame to fill your head with all that knowledge because now I want Morrow there to take you outside and when he's through, your mind will be a blank." Halbert chuckled and Adam grinned.

"At least you have a sense of humor about cold-blooded murder."

"It helps." Halbert motioned for Morrow to take Adam out. But Adam saw Madeline try to rise again. She glanced desperately about her. Halbert was a few feet away from her; Madeline couldn't reach him if what she had in mind was to strike him. And as he felt Morrow's heavy hand on his shoulder, Adam watched as Madeline reached for the oil lamp. The base was too broad for her to pick up with one hand and so with a glance at Adam, Madeline turned and swinging her free hand, pushed the lamp through the air. It hit the table and shattered. A line of flames followed the splattered oil and rose almost as a line of demarcation between the men and Madeline. Some of the flames touched Halbert's sleeve and he jumped up and slapped at the fabric to put out the flames. Then a flash began rising up his pants' leg and he desperately tried to put it out. He knocked the table over in his desperate attempt to escape what soon would be a conflagration and Morrow turned and ran out the front after giving Adam a shove. Halbert quickly followed him and Adam was tempted to stop them; he wanted to bring them to justice but Madeline was still on the other side of the rising and spreading flames.

"Madeline!" Adam called out. He knew he would have to either suffer the heat and flames to reach her or leave this burning hell and save himself. He could already feel the intense heat and saw the cot catch; it was nothing but wood and wool blankets—fodder for any flame.

Madeline realized what she had done; she had basically killed herself to save Adam and the irony of her situation filled her with despair. She had tried so many times to save herself, had been more than willing to sacrifice everything just to survive and here at last, she was going to die in an effort to save another person. And she wasn't sure if Adam would even survive—he could be shot down leaving the shack and all her efforts as well as her death would be a waste. Thoughts rushed through her mind along with remembered sensations and images. She could see Adam's face and even feel his lips on her mouth, his hands caressing her skin. She could remember the sound of his voice as he told her he loved her, whispered his need for her those nights they lay as husband and wife. And then Madeline suddenly was back in the burning shack, the flames catching her skirt on fire. And she screamed in terror.

She felt someone near her and her skirt was ripped off and tossed into the flames. Madeline looked and it was Adam. He held her about the waist and with one foot, kicked at the wooden cross post. It finally snapped and Madeline was freed from the cot. But they stood behind the wall of flames that was encroaching and the air was thick with smoke.

"Adam, we're going to die."

"The hell we are." He turned and pumped water into the Dutch oven. He then quickly poured it over Madeline's petticoats. "Don't stop—I swear I'll leave you here if you don't follow me through the fire." She nodded and Adam gripped her hand. And then he led her through the flames.


	23. Chapter 23

It wasn't cold and the burning shack gave off enough heat to make it seem a day in the hottest southwestern summer but Madeline sat a distance from the flames and shook uncontrollably. She kept trying to stop herself but her teeth chattered and she shivered as if ice had been slipped down the back of her singed suit jacket. Her wet petticoats lay heavy and soiled against her legs. She watched Adam as he examined Hoss' head a few yards from her, Hoss sitting in the grass and holding his temples.

"You might have a concussion but you didn't bleed that much."

"A what?"

"A concussion—it's medical term. Let me look at your eyes."

"I swear, Adam. My head's just spinning and my stomach's..."

"Well, just don't throw up on me. Look at me." Hoss looked up at his brother who stared into his blue eyes. "Your eyes are focusing all right. Just try and stay alert; I can't carry you and I'll be damned if I'm gonna leave you here if you fall off your horse."

"That man snuck up on me. I swear I never heard him comin'." Hoss glanced at Madeline who sat hunched over in the dirt, her arms hugging her midsection. "She gonna be all right?"

"Yeah. I think so. Now can you stand?"

"I'm gonna try." Hoss rose, stumbled but managed to get on his feet, leaning heavily on Adam. Adam grimaced. Hoss looked down and saw that Adam's shirt sleeve was ripped and the exposed skin red—burned.

"You gonna be all right. Your arm, I mean."

"Yeah, I'll be fine. My shirt sleeve caught—that's all. It's not bad. Think you can walk?"

"I think so but if I had to run…someone's comin'."

"More than one," Adam said looking up. He saw men on horseback approaching. "I'm taking your gun. Mine's gone." Adam stood basically between Hoss and Madeline, the gun by his side, not yet threatening, and three men rode in and pulled their horses up, guns drawn.

The man who rode in the middle spoke, a gray-haired, slender man with a certain dignity. "My name's Lester Norcross and this is my property you're on—the Trey Bar-and that's my line shack that's burnin'. Who the hell are you? And make it good. You've got one chance."

"Name's Adam Cartwright and I'm sorry about the shack—couldn't be helped. That's my brother Hoss and that…" He gestured toward Madeline. "That's Miss Purl."

The three men looked at one another. Then Norcross seemed to relax. The woman looked harmless enough and the big man seemed to waver a bit on his feet. He was unarmed and held the back of his head, blinking in the sunlight. Besides, Norcross considered, that name sounded familiar. He had heard about a ranching family in Nevada, a wealthy ranching family but this man didn't seem much like the scion of such a dynasty, more like a trail hand or a weary cowboy from off the range, covered with soot and unshaven. But all together, they did make an interesting trio and the woman had shapely legs under the clinging fabric of her petticoat.

"Where're you from?" Norcross asked. "He wasn't going to assume anything about this "Cartwright".

"Nevada. The Ponderosa and we could sure use some help. My brother there needs a doctor and Miss Purl…" Adam looked at Madeline who still sat on the ground. She had turned her face upward, looking at him for something. "She's with us."

"There was a man this morning," Norcross said. "Bought two horses and tack from me. You with them?"

"Not anymore," Adam said.

"You have any horses with you?"

"I think so. I think they're still tied off but I don't know that my brother can ride." Adam expected to be told to be gone and considered riding double with Madeline. But she wasn't the issue, it was Hoss and Adam considered how far Elko was and a doctor.

Norcross sat on his horse who was obviously uncomfortable with the flames so close. The man struggled to keep his horse still while he considered his next action. Then he turned to one of his men. "Go get a wagon and bring it back. Looks like the Mrs. and me'll have some visitors for a few days."

~ 0 ~

"Thank you, Mr. Norcross. I'll see you get your wagon and horses back." Adam shook hands with Norcross.

"I'm sure you will. Enjoyed the visit. I think the Mrs. liked having another woman around for a while. She's basically tied to the house most of the time and since Elko's the closest town, well, she doesn't see many other people. I'm sure she gets pretty tired of seeing only my face at the table every night."

Adam smiled as he left the porch and climbed up to the seat of the buckboard. Madeline sat primly beside him and Hoss rode comfortably in the back. He snapped the reins and the two horses started out. Hoss waved and Madeline turned and waved slightly before she turned back to looking out at the vast expanse of land ahead.

Adam was certain that Mrs. Norcross was glad to see the other woman gone; she hadn't taken to Madeline and once asked Adam where had met Madeline.

"The only reason I ask is that a woman traveling alone with two men and neither one her husband, well, it just seems a little odd. Not that I'm saying Miss Purls' a woman of ill-repute or such but the ranch hands do seem to be taken with her and she doesn't appear to mind their attention."

Adam knew that it was the attention that Mr. Norcross had given Madeline, his solicitous inquiries after her health, his insistence on buying her new clothing and refusing offered reimbursement as well as his showing her around his property that really bothered Mrs. Norcross. It had bothered Adam as well. The night before they left the Trey Bar, Adam had spoken to Madeline as she prepared for bed.

"What are you hoping for, Madeline? You think that Norcross is going to put aside his wife and take you as the new mistress of the place if you show him some attention?"

"I haven't done anything, Adam, but be polite and grateful. That's all. I don't know why I can't even be friendly without a man thinking I'm soliciting him." Madeline had slammed the brush she was using on the vanity and turned on him in a fury. "And what if that was my plan? What if I wanted to stay here out in the wild, isolated where no one can get to me? Maybe I do want to hide away…." Her voice died in her throat and she turned back to her mirror, staring at her face. "It won't be long and I'll lose what little beauty I have. My attractiveness will fade and my hair will gray. What will happen to me then, Adam? I suppose that it's a big joke—you probably think it's funny. I relied on my looks my whole life to prepare for this time and now, now when I need money more than anything else I have none and no one who cares about me." She laughed deprecatingly and looked at Adam's reflection as he stood behind her. "Nothing to say? I thought you had an answer for everything, Adam."

"You were wrong," he said. "I don't. I don't have any answers to anything." And needing all his power of will to keep from comforting her, telling her he would take care of her for the rest of his life and that she need never worry about money—or love—again, Adam left Madeline's room and went down the hall to the room he and Hoss shared at Norcross'.

"Tell Madeline we're leavin' tomorrow?" Hoss asked.

"Yeah, I told her," Adam said as he unbuttoned his shirt. Hoss lay in one of the two small beds, having to prop himself up against the headboard with pillows to sleep so he could stretch out his legs.

"I tell you, I'll be happy to sleep in my own bed again and though Mrs. Norcross is a fine enough cook, I'll be glad to get back to Hop Sing and the amount he cooks up. That Mrs. Norcross, why she underestimates how much a man needs to eat."

Adam chuckled. Hoss had tried to rein in his appetite but when the platter was empty of pork chops and Hoss wasn't yet full, he did get a pitiful look on his face.

"And only one skinny piece of pie for dessert. I swear, Adam, I'm getting weak from hunger. I think that woman's tryin' to starve me to death. What she got against me that she wants to leave me hankerin' for more?"

"Oh, I think you'll survive until we get to the Ponderosa. Mrs. Norcross just might be trying to teach you moderation." But Adam's mind was swirling. He knew the problems he would face once they were back at the Ponderosa. The problems were still Madeline, Baltimore, Markham and the detective who must have arrived in Virginia City for her by now.

The three rode along in silence, the buckboard jolting occasionally on the rough terrain. Norcross had given Hoss a few bunkhouse pillows and some moth-eaten blankets. The doctor had prescribed rest for him and Hoss didn't complain. The only thing Hoss had said to Adam was that he wished the doctor had prescribed a tall stack of pancakes every morning or slabs of ham drowning in syrup with homemade biscuits to sop up any extra. In the bed of the buckboard, Hoss slept soundly on the pillows that held an odor of the many sweaty heads that had lain on them over the years, the black and white ticking stained in places with what, Hoss didn't know and hesitated to guess. But with blankets tucked under and over him, Hoss slept the afternoon away.

It was about an hour before dusk, Adam surmised, and he stopped the wagon and looked in the back but Hoss still heavily slept.

"Why are we stopping?" Madeline asked.

"Because it's getting late and I don't want to drive the buckboard in the dark; too many chances for accidents to happen, especially since it's overcast—no moon out to show the way." He jumped down and put up his hands to help her down. "Besides, I'm hungry and when my brother wakes up he'll be like a bear after hibernation—starving."

Madeline smiled and scooted over so that Adam could take her hand and help her debark but he instead put his hands about her waist and lifted her down.

"Thank you," she said, smoothing her skirts and trying to appear unruffled by his nearness and by the smell of his skin and its heat. Madeline straightened the wide-brimmed hat she wore, a cast-off from Mrs. Norcross. Most of her clothing had been found by Adam, scattered across a few hundred yards where her valise still lay. Adam had gathered up what he could and after they had been cleaned and brushed, Madeline had placed them back in the valise, pulling out a dress that would serve for traveling; she had declined Norcross' generous offer to buy her new clothes. Her expensive wool suit jacket had been spotted by cinders and the little holes looked as if moths had feasted on it but it served to keep off the evening chill.

"Think you can gather kindling?" Adam asked her, not yet stepping aside. "I'll unload the wagon and then gather the wood."

Madeline stepped back and backed into the wagon; he was too close and she felt herself become anxious at the feelings he aroused in her. "Kindling? What's the difference between that and firewood?"

"Kindling is items that will catch easily—dry grasses, small pieces of dried bark—pine cones that smell like resin. Think you can do that?"

Madeline raised her chin in determination. "Of course I can." She stood for a few moments longer—Adam still had her hemmed in. With as much flair as she could muster, Madeline pulled off her white gloves and then unpinned her hat which she tossed in the buckboard along with the snoozing Hoss. "Now if you'll just get out of my way…"

Adam grinned, tipped his hat and gestured her to pass. He watched as Madeline went about looking for "kindling." As he watched her, he thought back to Marjorie and oddly, their short marriage seems as if it had been years ago, just a distant memory. He felt ashamed for not feeling a huge loss—and put that down to the fact that Madeline had been there. But no matter what, Marjorie had been his wife, not Madeline. He wanted to feel emptiness and grief as his father had when Inger and Marie died, as his father must have felt when his mother died so shortly after giving birth to him, but he couldn't. His heart had been hardened by past losses, past griefs and the thought of death wasn't so awful—it was the manner that always upset him. The main emotion he felt over Marjorie's death was that he wished he could have mitigated the fear she must have felt; that was the worst. At nights when he considered it, he shivered to think of her terror and he wondered if she had begged for her life, if she had tried to convince them she wasn't their target. Had Marjorie given up her sister, hoped Madeline would show and then be rightfully killed instead of her? Those nights Adam didn't sleep.

It didn't take long for Adam to have the beans heated and the three sat around the camp fire, Madeline on one of the wool blankets, eating beans with chips of ham cooked in for flavor—leftovers from the Norcross kitchen. Mrs. Norcross had also packed cold biscuits, salt pork, beef jerky, and tossed in a few cans of peaches and some homemade gooseberry jam.

" Bout time I can finally fill my belly," Hoss said as he emptied the fry pan of its beans and ham. "S'prised Mrs. Norcross didn't follow us just so she could smack my hands with a wooden spoon when I reached for seconds. Adam, hand me one of them biscuits. I have to hand it to her, for a miserly cook, she bakes one helluva good…s'cuse me, Miss Madeline."

"It's all right, Hoss," Madeline said. She began to gather the empty plates. "Shall I wash these?"

"Hoss and I can…"

"Adam, I think I best take care of some business and then get back in that buckboard and lie down. I ain't quite recovered yet."

"You'd do anything to get out of a little work, won't you? You're gonna milk this for all it's worth."

"Why, Adam, you think I'd fib 'bout how I feel just to get outta washin' some dishes? You cut me." Hoss placed one hand on his chest.

Adam stood. "Just go off into the trees—and stay upwind to take care of your 'business'. "

"I'll take the dishes to that stream we passed," Adam said to Madeline. "Seems there's kitchen duty even out here."

"I'll help you," Madeline said and the two went off to find the stream in the darkness.

They walked in silence and Adam, by listening for the sounds of water rolling and tumbling, quickly found the water. They kneeled side by side, Adam using his handkerchief to rub off the residue in the rushing water. Madeline found she had nothing to do but watch.

"Adam," Madeline said, "I suppose you're going to turn me over to the detective from Baltimore once we get back."

"Yes."

She sighed deeply. "Yes. I need to…do something for Marjorie."

Adam stood up. He had stacked the tin plates and the coffee cups and picked them up. He handed them to Madeline and then bent and took up the fry pan. "We need to get back. Bears are out scrounging."

"Wait a moment," Madeline said. There wasn't much moon; it was partially covered by clouds but there was enough so she could see Adam's expression, In her dealings with him, once he found out that she had deceived him, he had made of point to show nothing—or try to. But sometimes when Adam's defenses were down, she thought she saw something akin to kindness in his face. That was all she hoped for from him now—kindness.

"What?"

"I just…I just." She turned and began to walk back. Adam followed.

"What is it?"

"I'm just worried about myself again." She glanced at Adam. He was watching her intensely, waiting for what, she didn't know. Madeline considered apologizing again for her cowardice, for her abandoning Marjorie and Pauline in the hotel room, about trying to pass herself off as Marjorie, Adam's wife, to apologize for all her sins but decided it would be to no end. What was done, she had done and he knew her now better than anyone else in existence; she didn't believe Adam could be fooled by her anymore, even if she tried her best.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Adam."

"That's a novelty."

"Be as sarcastic as you like, but I'm afraid to go off with another 'detective'. "Maybe he'll be another of Markham's men. Maybe I'll never make it to Baltimore and if I do, what then? I won't be able to stay there, all my money is gone—my jewelry—everything I own."

"You're resourceful. You're still beautiful. Maybe Norcross will want you?"

"You are a heartless bastard, aren't you? I tell you I'm afraid and you mock me. But then I suppose you're right. I might be able to sell myself for a few more years and after that, maybe I can turn tricks in a mining camp. I hear they're flush with money after payday and want nothing more but the comfort of a woman. And, as you might point out should you want to be even more insulting, I can keep the lamp on low so they can't see how used I am."

Adam reached out and touched Madeline's arm. She stopped and turned slightly. Madeline didn't know if it was the play of moonlight or her imagination, but she thought she saw tenderness in his eyes.

"Madeline, I won't let you go off alone. I can't keep coming to your rescue, can I?" He smiled slightly.

"No. I suppose you can't."

"I'll go with you and the detective and stay for the trial and then…afterwards…"

"Afterwards, what?" Madeline searched his face.

"Afterwards you'll come home."

"Home?"

"The Ponderosa. It's your home as well. You are family. Now let's get back to the wagon."

Adam surprised himself. He hadn't thought he would ever say what he had. His heart was pounding in his chest and he felt a new hope surge through him. Given time, perhaps he could find a way to love again—truly love and regain the euphoria he had initially experienced with Madeline in his arms, with her next to him and his mouth on hers. It was possible now, he knew. Maybe he could find a way to recover his soul with her by his side.

It wasn't a sure thing, but then nothing in life was. Nothing. But it was worth taking a chance.

~ Finis ~


End file.
